


The Winchester Portkey

by CrowHorse1, Dreamsnake, Hareinthemoonlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Funny, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowHorse1/pseuds/CrowHorse1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamsnake/pseuds/Dreamsnake, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hareinthemoonlight/pseuds/Hareinthemoonlight
Summary: PART 1  chapters 1 to 11The Winchesters are hurled into Weasley family life. Feisty dish mops and love sick bunny slippers keep them on their toes. The Weasleys try to remain good hosts but there's danger in the city and Dean sees something in Diagon Alley that just might break him.PART 2   chapter 12 onwards.THE STORY CONTINUES...Sam remembers something he shouldn't and Arthur gets a surprising message... It can only lead to trouble! *Chap 13 now posted*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written by Hare in the Moonlight and CrowHorse1

 

"Yeah… it's somewhere close. Okay…" Sam tapped his cell phone against the palm of his hand, checking the signal strength with a frown.

"The signal is breaking up... Okay Bobby, we'll give you a call soon as we get back into range."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "Nothin' new then?"

"No."

The Impala rolled on through the dry, brown grasses of the Colorado prairie. Sam took another look at the newspaper clipping.

"It should be somewhere around here, Dean. Newspaper says the girl went missing about 5 miles past the old church."

"All looks the same to me, Sammy. Hold on..." Dean squinted, braking the Impala gradually to a halt.

A figure stood in the vast emptiness of the prairie, a couple of hundred yards out into the grassland.

"Funny place to take a walk." Sam unfolded himself into the dry road.

Dean emerged slowly, tucking his custom made Colt into the waistband of his jeans.

"Weird looking fella," Dean muttered, as the man strode towards them, a friendly smile on his face.

He was strangely attired for the middle of the prairie. A smart, tweed three-piece suit and shiny brown brogues, topped off with a brown felt Fedora. He touched the brim of the Fedora and dipped his chin in a pleasant nod. "It's all ready for you boys!"

Sam was opening his mouth to reply when the man, still smiling, seemed to be sucked into a hole in mid-air and disappeared with a loud crack.

Dean grabbed for his gun as Sam stumbled backwards in shock.

"Dude!" Dean fumbled for words. "He just…!"

"I know!"

"He got zapped! It's like somethin' out of freakin' Star Trek!"

"What?" Sam looked bewildered. "You think he got beamed up?"

Both heads looked up simultaneously, searching the sky. Sam looked a little hopeful, almost as though he was hoping to see the Starship Enterprise peeking from behind a cloud.

There were no interstellar spaceships in sight… obviously.

They spent the next twenty minutes or so poking around in the grassland. The only visible evidence that the man had ever existed were the bent grasses left by the passage of his feet. The tracks led them to a dry log.

"How in hell did that get here?" Sam scanned the horizon. "There's not a tree for miles!"

"He walked out here for some reason, Sammy." Dean skirted around the log cautiously. Even if there were no aliens around there might still be some rattlesnakes soaking up the early autumn sunlight.

"Doesn't look like it's been here long… is there anything underneath it?"

Dean sighed. "Trust you to think of a reason why we've gotta move it! Here, give me a hand."

They took a firm hold of opposing ends of the log, preparing to roll it sideways. Suddenly it shot into the air, spinning wildly. Acting on instinct, both hunters gripped tightly.

"SAAMMM!" Dean yelled, panicking at the sudden flight; the word was whipped away by the sheer velocity of the spin.

Before they had time to take a breath, their vision went blurry and they both felt as though a giant hook had grabbed them behind their navels, yanking them backwards at an incredible rate of knots.

.

The log stopped abruptly. They lost their grip, crashing down onto wet, green grass. The log slammed into the ground between them.

Sam moved first, rolling up onto his elbow; he was gasping for breath. "Dean?"

"Here," his brother groaned. "I'm gonna hurl."

"Hello there! Awful landing lads! Suppose you don't use portkeys often in America?" A breathy, enthusiastic and very English voice was above them. "Glad I got here early, otherwise I would have missed you!"

The Winchesters sat up slowly, heads spinning, to see a slightly grubby face beaming at them, good nature in every plump wrinkle under a head of messy, bright ginger hair.

He held out a hand to Sam.  "I'm Arthur. Arthur Weasley. And you are?"

Sam took his hand hesitantly, receiving a firm shake. "Errr, Sam?"

"Sam. Good name, good name." Nodding eagerly, he turned to beam at Dean.

Dean, looking slightly green, glowered back at him.

Sam jumped in, finding it hard not to be polite when faced with such joviality. "Dean," he supplied, trying to gloss over the awkwardness. "My brother, Dean."

"Well now! The Ministry didn't tell me they were sending over brothers!" The man looked even more pleased, if that was humanly possible. "Brothers, well, well, that's excellent. I hope my sons follow _me_ into the business."

He gestured eagerly down the hillside. "Shall we get going then?"

Sam made as if to follow.

"Sam! Wait. This guy is crazy on toast." Dean grabbed at his brother's arm. "Where are you goin'?"

"Dean, we need to find out where we are. This isn't Colorado. And I think we can take him, don't you."

It was clearly not Colorado. The damp mist of a drizzly evening surrounded the wet hillside. There were no buildings in sight, only the white blobs of a few sheep standing out in the dusk.

Mr Weasley was striding away down the hillside. Sam and Dean followed reluctantly.

"Come on boys. Not far now. So… tell me, have either of you been to England before?"

"England?" Sam stuttered.

"No? Well it's a little bit damper than where you're from I suppose. "

"England!" Dean sounded incredulous. "I told ya, Sammy. Scotty did beam us up!" He tripped, grabbing onto Sam's jacket for balance, as he searched the sky again. There was still no sign of the Enterprise.

Mr Weasley was holding open a rusty, metal gate. He waved them through, patting Dean genially on the shoulder as he passed.

"Now this…" He gestured towards a light blue Ford Anglia with a triumphant expression. "This is the car I was telling you about. Isn't she a beauty!"

Dean regarded the Ford Anglia with an expression of horror.

Mr Weasley turned to him. "The Ministry told me you'd done the same thing with your car. What model was it, they didn't tell me?"

"'67 Chevy Impala, Oh sonofabitch! Where's my car? Sam! Where's Baby! She's all by herself; someone is gonna steal her!"

Mr Weasley brushed off his guest's comments. "Well now," he said. "I'm sure it will be alright. You remembered to attach an invisibility button didn't you? Besides… no muggle would ever be able to work it, right?"

"Wha… " Dean opened his mouth and shut it again, confused.

"Muggle?" Sam queried.

"Yes, yes. Non-magical folk. Or do you have a different name for them over there?" He clapped Sam on the arm. "I can't tell you how excited I am about this international exchange. I was _thrilled_ when the Ministry told me I'd be looking after you."

He swung open the door of the little Ford Anglia and moved the front seat forwards.

"Who's getting in the back then?"

Dean pushed Sam aside. "More leg room in the front, Sammy."

He winked at his brother as he climbed in. Sam noticed that Dean had his Colt held tight against the side of his leg.

Mr Weasley chuckled. "Good to see you've got a sense of humour!"

Dean settled carefully into the back seat, looking puzzled. It was surprisingly spacious. In fact there seemed to be more room than inside the Impala, and that was clearly impossible.

Sam climbed carefully into the front passenger seat, scrunching himself into a tight ball and then gradually relaxing as he realised there was ample room to stretch his legs out and sit up straight.

The door slammed with a metallic clang as Mr Weasley got into the driver's side. He turned the key, gave them a brilliant smile and zoomed forwards, heading directly at a large oak tree.

Sam grasped the dashboard and shut his eyes. He was going to die, a whole ocean away from home. His stomach swooped; he braced for impact. It didn't come. Noises of distress came from the back seat.

"Sam…" It was a broken moan. "We're flyin' Sam… I'm gonna die… or hurl… or both."

Dean had his eyes screwed shut, his fingers digging into the edge of the seat. "This is a freakin' nightmare. I wanna wake up."

Sam peered cautiously out of the window. They were indeed flying. "Amazing…" he murmured, not sure he was even awake.

.

They flew for about 30 minutes. The dim evening light turned slowly to dusk. After the initial shock wore off, Sam found he could detach his mind from reality enough to almost enjoy the experience. If he stopped thinking about the craft as a car, it was easy enough to pretend it was simply a light aircraft, a Cessna or such like. He sat back and looked at the purple streaks of the setting sun, letting Mr Weasley's bright chatter wash over him.

Dean was not enjoying the experience. He sat with a rigid posture, occasional muffled curses drifting from the back seat, interspersed with a breathless little humming noise.

Mr Weasley looked questioningly at Sam.

"Metallica," he explained. "Calms him down. He's kinda scared of flying."

Mr Weasley glanced back, sympathy in his gaze. "Unfortunate," he murmured. "In our line of work."

In the distance they saw an impossibly balanced wooden structure. A house, on top of a house, on top of a house, with another small house sticking out of one side, about half way up.

"Home, sweet home!" Mr Weasley beamed as the Anglia swooped down to a bumpy landing.

"Oh thank God!" Dean said fervently, staggering out as Sam moved the seat forwards. Sam took hold of his upper arm to steady him.

"I hope you boys are hungry? Molly has got supper on. Meat pie I believe. And if we're lucky there'll be a nice apple pie for afters."

Dean lifted his head, hope filtering across his features.

"Pie?" He asked warily, peering around Sam's bulk.

His brother stood with his head thrown backwards, looking in amazement at the haphazard and unstable structure before him.

"Pie." Mr Weasley confirmed happily. "Come along and meet Molly and Ginny."


	2. Chapter 2

Mr Weasley bustled ahead of them and enthusiastically threw open the front door.

“Evening all!” he called, turning to smile encouragingly at the Winchesters.

A pool of soft, yellow light spilled through the doorway, accompanied by a waft of warm air, fragranced with the aroma of home-cooked food.

For a moment the brothers hovered on the doorstep. How could this be the house of a monster?

They didn’t have time to dwell on the matter as a motherly figure descended upon them with a delighted cry and a swirl of brightly coloured skirts and trailing, crocheted sleeves.

“Welcome, welcome! Come on in dears, make yourself at home. I’m Molly.”

As Sam entered, Mrs Weasley took hold of his shoulders and pulled him down into a warm, tight hug. Startled, Sam indulged his natural instincts to hug back and received a face full of soft, ginger, frizzy curls.

Dean put his hand under his jacket, hand on the pistol grip of his gun, in case this was the moment she was going to rip out his brother’s throat. With one hand behind his back, he was in no position to fend off Mrs Weasley as she released Sam and engulfed him, pressing him against her ample bosom.

Dean froze, unsure what to do about this unexpected form of attack. Mrs Weasley took a step backwards and observed him for moment, before reaching out and pinching his pale cheek.

“Bit peaky are we?”

Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and let out a piercing yell. “Ginny! Ginny. Supper!”

Sam ducked his chin, hiding a smirk at the look of shock on his brother’s face.

Mr Weasley pulled out two of the mis-matched wooden chairs that were spaced around a long farmhouse kitchen table and gestured to them.

“Sit, sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Sam approached the table readily enough. There was no obvious threat and it seemed safer to just roll with events for the moment. Dean followed his brother’s lead, looking a little unsure of how to behave in this unfamiliar domestic setting.

The kitchen was a homely clutter of cauldrons, stacks of plates and teacups. The furniture all seemed to be made of wood; a cast iron Aga range belched out heat against one wall and the delicious smell seemed to be coming from that direction.

There was a clatter on the bare boards of the wooden staircase and a small girl bounded into the room. She stopped short, staring unabashedly at the visitors with huge eyes.

“Offer the visitors a drink then.” Molly said kindly, turning to the Winchesters. “This is our youngest, Ginny.”

Ginny skipped to the dresser and lifted up a huge jug, carrying it carefully to the table. She stopped next to Dean, peering up at him from under her bright, tousled hair.

Sticking her tongue out in concentration, she tipped the jug precariously, aiming a wavering stream of orange liquid into his chipped mug.

“Pumpkin juice,” she chirped sweetly, tilting her small face up to him as her hand wavered, depositing a fair amount of the juice on the table.

“Errr…” said Dean, as he peered down into his cup. “Thanks.” He gave her a wary little twist of a grin.

Sam’s large hands appeared, steadying the jug. “Hey, let me help you with that.”

He beamed at her kindly, showing his dimples. Ginny blushed, twisting her foot awkwardly in the way small children do when bashful. She watched him closely, nodding her approval as he filled the rest of the mugs on the table. Clearly he had made a good impression and she settled on a chair opposite him, still staring. After a moment she piped up brightly.

“Some wizards wear their long hair in plaits."

Dean sniggered. “Yeah dude. Plaits. That’d be a good look for you.” He continued to grin as he took a swig from his mug. There was a pause, a loud swallowing noise and a muffled choke. Dean shuddered, putting his mug down with a thunk.

“You drink this stuff all the time man. No wonder you’re a weird ass freak.”

Sam frowned, taking a swig from his own mug. “It’s good for you Dean.”

Mrs Weasley handed out large, patterned dishes, piled high with slabs of steaming hot beef pie, the pastry rich and golden.

Dean took his with an expression almost of reverence. “Now _this_ is good for you, Sammy.” If he was going be poisoned by a monster and die, this was the way he was going to go down.

.

When Mrs Weasley began to serve up chunks of hot, apple pie and thick, yellow custard, Dean took the opportunity to slide his hand across the table. He snagged the salt cellar, popped out the cork and quickly tipped the contents into his jacket pocket.

Mr Weasley, who was far sharper than his slightly batty appearance suggested, noted the move with interest, filing it away for future reference.

.

The remainder of the meal passed in comfortable silence. Dean settled back in his chair, wishing he could undo a button or two on his jeans. That second helping of apple pie had been more than his waistband could contain in comfort.

Sam, more used to such social gatherings, unfolded himself from the table, his dish in his hand.

“That was a wonderful meal, Mrs Weasley. I’ll do the dishes.”

All the Weasleys chuckled.

“Good sense of humour, these two.” Mr Weasley chortled.

Sam looked a little confused as he placed his dish into the white porcelain sink, wondering if his offer had been taken up or not. As he hesitated, Mrs Weasley stood up and waved what seemed to be a small, wooden stick.

The tap next to Sam began to gush hot water into the sink. He flinched, stepping back involuntarily as the dirty dishes stacked on the counter seemed to slide of their own accord into the soapy water. He blinked hard several times, wishing he had brought his gun as a dish floated up out of the water and hovered in mid-air.

“Dean!”

Sam reached for the dish, promptly receiving a sharp rap on his knuckles from a feisty dish mop as it began to wash up vigorously. He reversed, open mouthed.

“Dean…” he hissed.

“Don’t do anythin’ Sammy.” Dean’s voice was in his ear, a calming hand on his upper arm. “We don’t know what they’re capable of.”

Mr Weasley stood up behind them, rubbing his stomach in satisfaction.

“You boys must be tired. I know I am. Let me show you your bedroom. Don’t mind sharing, do you?”

They followed Mr Weasley up a winding, crooked staircase to the second floor. He approached a doorway that seemed to be leaning slightly to the right.

“Here you are. This is yours.”

He opened the door onto a wooden panelled little room. Twin beds with knitted blankets and plump pillows stood on either side of a nightstand.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Sleep tight!”

He gave them a last smile and headed on up the staircase to the next floor.

.

Sam closed the door gently.

“What the fuck!” Dean started to circle the room, tapping at walls, testing the catch on the window.

“Where the hell are we, Sam. Who… what are these people?”

Sam dragged his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Did you _see_ that dish mop!”

“Dish mop! We just flew in a _car!_ That piece of crap shouldn’t even be on the road! I should’ve shot it. “

“Dean! There’s a little girl here. You can’t just go shooting things.”

Dean huffed, annoyed. “Is she? Is she a little girl, or some badass monster’s rugrat!”

“Look. We could leave, tonight. But that girl, who disappeared. From what people said, it was as though she just vanished into thin air. Maybe the same thing happened to her? Maybe she’s here somewhere man; don’t we at least owe it to her to stick around and have a look.”

Dean squared his shoulders, never one to back down from a hunt, however weird it might be.

“Yeah,” he agreed in a resigned tone. He fished out a handful of salt from his pocket and laid it carefully along the window sill, the second and last handful went along the edge of the door.

He’d barely taken a step away when the door flew open. A dustpan and brush shot into the room at speed, swept the salt off the window sill and flicked it up vigorously from the floor. The door slammed shut behind it as it zoomed away.

“Okay…” said Dean slowly, settling into the over-stuffed chair at the bottom of one of the beds. He pulled his gun out of his waistband and laid it on his thigh.

“I’ll take first watch then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back for the second chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for the kudos. : )


	3. Chapter 3

The delicious smell of frying bacon drifted up the stairs and filtered into Sam’s dreams. He stirred, stretched, luxuriating in the soft mattress and lavender scented feather pillows.

They were in the Weasley’s house, he recalled sleepily. It was the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages.

A sudden flash of irritation jerked him awake. Warm pillows and the smell of bacon should not be together, not unless Dean had failed to wake him to take his turn on watch. He rolled sideways; sure enough Dean was still in the chair, his head slumped painfully to one side.

“Dean!” He protested, the sound of his voice bringing his brother’s head up with a snap. Slitted green eyes flicked in Sam’s direction before returning to their baleful stare at the bedroom door.

“You didn’t wake me. Have you been sitting there all night man?”

Dean cracked his neck painfully. “Couldn’t sleep anyway dude. Don’t worry about it.”

There was a soft knock. Dean tensed and approached the door, gun held behind his back. He opened it cautiously. At first it seemed no-one was outside.

A little voice piped up from somewhere around the level of his waist.

“Mom said breakfast is ready.”

A small figure, clad in rose pink and cream striped pyjamas was staring sleepily up at him from underneath wild bed hair. Dean's eyes widened as he realised one of her fluffy brown bunny slippers was twitching its nose at him. The other slipper yawned, pink mouth gaping and then winked at him cheekily.

Dean reversed rapidly into the room with a grunt, slamming the door. He looked at Sam a little wildly.

“What!” said Sam, alarmed at his brother’s expression.

“Dude! I think that slipper… a bunny slipper, just hit on me.”

.

They made their way downstairs. Sam peered at his watch, realising it was still set at Colorado time. The large grandfather clock in the kitchen was no help; as he drew nearer he could see there were no numbers on the face and an extraordinary number of hands, each topped with a picture of a ginger family member. The majority of hands were pointing at the word ‘school’.

Molly Weasley beamed at them from the range.

“Help yourself boys. Did you sleep well?”

She placed a platter of sizzling bacon on the loaded table. It was crowded with large jars of marmalade and honey, a teetering stack of brown toast rubbing shoulders with a dish of creamy scrambled eggs and a large slab of butter.

Molly stared at the Winchesters, taking in their appearance. Her guests were not what she’d expected and appeared to be polar opposites of each other.

Sam, under his unruly mop of soft, brown hair was a giant of a young man… or at least a giant in human terms. He smiled at her, warm and friendly, the dimples in his cheeks inviting a pinch.

Dean was a handsome but tortured man; grief written into the set of his face and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His smile was forced, as though he felt uncomfortable, unsure how to behave.

Her musings were interrupted when Mr Weasley bounded in over the doorstep, a newspaper underneath one arm. Striped pyjamas seemed to be the order of dress for Weasley breakfasts. His were topped by a patched plaid dressing gown. He wiped his moccasin slippers on the doormat and plumped himself down at the table.

“Magnificent, Molly! Smells lovely.” He gestured genially at the food as he scooped a pile of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “Dig in, boys.”

Sam stared with interest at the newspaper. “Do you mind…?”

“By all means, go ahead.” Mr Weasley slid it across the table to him.

Sam unfolded it and shook out the pages. He bit back a stifled gasp. Dean looked at him sharply, leaning across to peer over his shoulder.

The warm colour of the pages suggested the newspaper was ancient, although the date was correct. But that wasn’t the cause of Sam’s surprise. The pictures seemed to be alive. A woman in a black robe was flying across the main photograph, balancing precariously on a broomstick as she waved merrily at the camera. In the corner an advertisement for used spell books showed a man staggering under a wobbling pile of at least a hundred sizeable tomes.

Sam put the paper down nervously and turned his attention to the food. At least that was sitting still… at the moment.

Mr Weasley waved a fork at them, his words muffled by a mouthful of bacon. “We won’t be going into London until tomorrow. I thought we’d take it easy today. How do you fancy joining me in a spot of de-gnoming?”

He looked at them hopefully. It was not his favourite activity. Some young blood might make it a bit easier.

Dean perked up a little. “Gnomes?”

“Are they counted as a pest in America too?” Molly asked.

“Ah, Molly here hates them. I find them quite charming sometimes… but feisty!” Mr Weasley chuckled, rubbing absently at a small crescent-shaped scar, left on his wrist by a gnome who had got the better of him.

“In about an hour then boys?” Mr Weasley pushed his plate away and headed off up the stairs.

Sam took his plate to the counter, being careful not to upset the dish mop. The sun was shining through the leaded kitchen window and he noted the stained glass patterns had been set into the window frame in no particular order, some of them upside down. It was just another weird thing in this homely but eccentric house.

Dean caught at his sleeve on the way to the front door. He’d eaten very little and looked grey and worn around the edges.

“C’mon Sammy,” he said tightly. “I need some air.”

.

They stepped outside into the crisp morning. It seemed peaceful enough, just the sound of birds chirping and the gurgle of the stream that ran alongside the house. Was it all a trick to lull them into a sense of false security?

Sam pulled out his phone. “Out of battery,” he murmured. “Have you seen any electric sockets anywhere?”

Dean shook his head glumly. “Maybe we can find one in London.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “I’m sure they have electric sockets in London, Dean. Or maybe we can use one of those red phone boxes they have on the movies.” He looked quite excited at the prospect and Dean wondered uneasily what sort of movies his brother watched when he wasn’t around.

There was a rustle in the overgrown flower bed. Dean approached with caution, wondering if this was one of the errant gnomes. There was no sign of a red pointed hat anywhere. He’d decided it was probably a bird or a small rodent when a set of sharp teeth sunk viciously into his shin.

A small, brown, ugly little creature with a face resembling a squashed potato was clinging onto his leg, its teeth gripping tightly at his flesh. Dean yelled, kicking his leg wildly, trying to rid himself of the little beast.

Sam tried to grab at it, narrowly escaping a kick to the face. The gnome lost its grip and fell onto the path with a wail. Dean took out his gun and fired instinctively. The gnome was fast, dodging the bullet. It ran off, screaming and waving its arms in the air.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Mrs Weasley shrilled, plucking Dean’s gun out of his hand with a wave of her little brown stick.

“What the fuck!” Dean spat, trying to snatch it out of mid-air as it was swept away. Sam leapt at him, holding him back.

“Dean!”

Mr Weasley popped out of the doorway and caught the floating firearm. “I say,” he said enthusiastically as he pointed the loaded weapon at himself. “Is this one of those metal shooters? How fascinating!”

“Don’t move!” Dean growled, as he approached with caution. “Don’t touch anything. You’re gonna kill yourself, or me!”

Looking mildly surprised, Mr Weasley handed the weapon back to its rightful owner. Dean removed the clip hurriedly and stowed the gun back in his waistband.

Molly tutted at him. “We’re just re-locating gnomes today, dear. Not murdering.” She popped her wand back into her apron pocket. “That’s a nasty bite you’ve got there, take a seat. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Dean sank onto a bench, looking bewildered. His head was starting to pound. The morning was turning out to be far more stressful than he’d feared.

He rolled up the leg of his jeans and examined the bite, poking at the broken skin and wincing.

A small head looked closely at the injury.

“Not too bad,” announced Ginny. She stared at him out of huge eyes. “Gnome saliva is good for you. Maybe you’ll feel like singing for us later?”

Dean glowered, pulling his leg away, failing to find any connection between singing and a wounded leg.

“Thanks for the help there, Sammy. Gnome too much for you was it?”

Sam’s hid his face; his shoulders were shaking.

Molly pressed a glass of water into Dean’s hand. She smiled at him sympathetically.

“Maybe you can sit this one out dear?”

Dean just wanted to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading : ) More soon...


	4. Chapter 4

Mr Weasley emerged from the old Nissen hut alongside the house; he had several substantial leather gardening gloves tucked under his arm. He dropped the gloves down on the bench next to Dean.

“Help yourselves,” he encouraged. “I must say, I was hoping to let my breakfast go down first, but you seem so keen we might as well get started now.”

Sam sorted through the gloves; there didn’t seem to be any matching pairs, but eventually he found a left and a right that were large enough for his hands.

Mr Weasley had already changed into an old, tattered brown Barbour jacket, tied around the waist with a piece of string. He eyed Sam with concern.

“Let me get you a thicker jacket; as your brother has already experienced, gnomes have quite sharp teeth.”

He pulled a worn, paint splattered jacket out of the Nissen hut. Sam pulled it on over his own, careful not to get his hands stuck through the holes where the elbows were worn through.

Gnomes had started to appear in small groups at the edges of the garden. Some seemed to be pointing and laughing at Dean.

Mr Weasley chuckled fondly. “Bless them! They do love it when a de-gnoming goes wrong and they get one over on the wizards!”

Dean scowled, affronted at the thought that a squashed potato could ‘get one over’ on him. The frown deepened when he realised he’d just been referred to as a wizard. In his experience witches and other spell casting parties were usually the hex-throwing enemies. He snatched up a pair of gloves and put them on. There was no way a demon fighting Winchester was going to be taken down by a garden gnome.

There was a proud sparkle in Mr Weasley’s eye. “Bravo lad!” Maybe this one was tougher than he looked. “Sam! You’re with me. Ginny, you’re looking after… I mean working with, Dean.”

They split off into pairs and began to stalk the nervous looking gnomes.

“Stay close, watch me,” whispered Ginny. Eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline, Dean followed closely. If one of those ugly critters got anywhere near her, monster’s kid or not, he was going to boot it right out of the garden.

Ginny stopped, eyeing up a rather fat-looking gnome who was dreamily scratching his backside. Much to Dean’s surprise, she let out a piercing warrior’s scream and flew at it, a blur of little red wellies and bright yellow coat. She snatched it up by one leg and began to spin around on the spot, holding the gnome out at arm’s length. The gnome let out a scream that sounded suspiciously like “Oi! Gerroff! Gerroff me!”

When Ginny decided the gnome had gained sufficient momentum, she let go, aiming it over the fence with the speed and precision of an Olympian shot-putter.

Dean’s eyebrow quirked in approval. “Way to go, kid. But won’t it just walk right back in.”

“Nah,” said Ginny with confidence. “They get dis-or-eee-ented.” She looked up at him, smiling. “Dad says it means they can’t find their way back.”

Dean grinned, despite himself. This could be fun. He launched himself at the nearest gnome.

Sam had hurled half a dozen gnomes before he sustained a bite to the finger. He swore, his earlier feelings of guilt vanishing with the sting of that single chomp. He rubbed his finger, thankful for the leather gloves.

A gnome shrieked on the opposite side of the garden, followed by the sound of laughter, Ginny’s high pitched giggle rising over his brother’s deep chuckle. Dean’s face was alight with laughter, his green eyes glinting mischievously. Sam smiled; it was good to see a genuine smile on his brother’s face again.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mr Weasley as he sprawled in front of him, arms wrapped around a skinny, cackling gnome. Sam leapt back into the fray.

.

The de-gnoming lasted until they were called in by Molly for late lunchtime sandwiches. They trooped inside, hot, sweaty and slightly bruised, but happy.

Sam held his brother back just inside the doorway.

“Dean,” he said hesitantly, not sure how his brother was going to take his suggestion. “These people don’t seem dangerous; they won’t even kill the gnomes. They’re mixed up in some weird stuff, and I get we have to be careful…”

“Sam. Just come out with it dude.”

Sam rushed on. “Maybe we should just show them the photo of the girl, see what reaction we get?”

Dean nodded. Years of interviewing relatives and friends of victims had made them professionals at reading people.

.

They waited until lunch was being cleared away. Sam eyed Mr Weasley and gave his brother a little nudge. Dean nodded.

Sam slipped out the newspaper clipping, unfolding it on the table top and pushing it towards Mr Weasley with a fingertip. “Arthur,” he said. “What do you think about this?”

Mr Weasley’s face lit up. “That is amazing!”

Sam felt Dean tense next to him. Why would anyone think an article about a missing girl was amazing?

“Give me a moment,” Mr Weasley scuttled out of the room. Dean rose slowly to his feet, his hand slipping under his jacket and Sam pushed himself back from the table, ready to react.

Suddenly Mr Weasley rushed back in, his arms filled with a large, leather bound book. He slammed it onto the table enthusiastically. Sam’s eyes widened as he flipped it open. It was full of newspaper clippings. Were these the trophies of a serial killer?

There was the muffled sound of Dean cocking the Colt under the cover of his jacket.

“I also love muggle photographs!” Mr Weasley was almost beside himself with excitement. “I started collecting them a few years ago! There are so many newspapers lying around London; people donate them to special baskets called ‘litter’. What a treasure trove!”

Sam focussed on the open pages, filled with clippings from newspapers: weddings, local football teams, politicians, theatre line-ups and restaurant advertisements. No victims, no missing people, nothing untoward. Just random newspaper clippings.

Mr Weasley stared intently at Sam’s clipping. “Is that from an _American_ newspaper? I haven’t got any of those in my book…” There was a silent plea in his eyes.

Sam reached backward, laying a calming hand on Dean’s forearm.

“You collect newspaper clippings, any newspaper clipping?”

Suddenly Sam remembered the shock he’d felt when he’d seen the Weasley’s ‘live’ newspaper. If circumstances were reversed, he would probably want to keep a few of those.

Mr Weasley sensed their hesitation. He sweetened the deal. “It would be a focal point in my collection. You could see it whenever you liked. I’ll leave the book out on the coffee table.”

Sam smiled. How could he refuse? He pushed the clipping over a little further. It was snatched up immediately and placed into the book, a look of awe stealing across Mr Weasley’s features. He shut the book with a smile.

“Well I don’t know about you boys, but I need a little lie-down after all that activity. Are you alright to entertain yourselves for a couple of hours?”

.

The Winchesters made their escape, glad to have the excuse to get away by themselves, somewhere they could speak openly. They took a walk up the lane.

“I don’t think they’re involved.” Sam put it straight out there. “They’re witches or somethin’, but these aren’t bad people. They’re kinda nice, y’know?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m keeping an open mind here dude. Let’s see if we can find anythin’ out in London tomorrow. Get a hold of Bobby.”   He squinted sideways at Sam. “We don’t know what kinda witch mojo they’ve got goin’. Don’t let your guard down okay?”

His face was worried. Sam had wanted a domestic family life for so long.

“Don’t get attached here, Sammy, okay? These aren’t regular people.”

.

As they walked back into the house, Mrs Weasley called to them from the front room.

“How about you come and join us for a game of Wizard’s Chess.”

The Winchesters looked at each other. They had no magical powers. Was this the moment their cover would be blown?

.


	5. Chapter 5

The Winchesters walked slowly into the front room. A normal looking chess set was laid out on the coffee table. Mr and Mrs Weasley smiled at them brightly from a squishy couch strewn with bright flower-patterned cushions and crocheted throws.

Sam smiled hesitantly; there had to be a catch. “How about you two play a game first and we’ll watch; it’s been a while since I played chess.”

“A while?” Dean whispered. “You play chess! Ha! Bet you were in the chess club at Stanford, huh, Sammy?”

“Made quite a few dollars at it too.” Sam smirked, slapping his brother’s shoulder.

Mr Weasley’s face lit up. “Talking about betting, I could do with winning a few knuts back off Molly!” He twinkled fondly at his wife.

“Nuts?” hissed Dean. “They play for _monkey nuts?”_

“Mom, I’m cold.” Ginny piped up from her seat on a yellow, knitted pouffe stool.

“It _is_ a little chilly in here,” Mr Weasley remarked. “Would one of you boys mind lighting the fire?”

Dean stepped forwards. At last, a skill he possessed. He knelt down on one knee by the open fire and pulled out his Zippo lighter. Ginny watched with interest as he flipped the top open and flicked it alight. He was applying the flame to the kindling when Ginny leaned forwards. “You’re not a wizard, are you? You’re a muggle.”

Her high voice rang in the quiet room. Mr and Mrs Weasley looked up in surprise. “Ginny! Don’t be so rude.”

Dean froze; his mouth opened and shut again.

“No… No, no,” Sam spluttered. “It’s kinda like…” He hesitated, mind racing. “We decided that on this particular exchange, we would try and live like muggles. Not use any magic.” He smiled sweetly, making sure his dimples were on full show. “I’m sorry. We should’ve said something earlier.”

“Well, that makes perfect sense!” Mr Weasley was delighted. “Seeing that the whole purpose of the exchange is for you to learn more about the British muggle species. My speciality of course; that’s why I was chosen to host you. What a brilliant idea! Maybe when I come over to America I can do that too!”

“Right,” said Molly. “Time for me to win some more knuts off you, dear, I think. Pawn to 4B. ”

“Pawn to 5B.”

As the Weasleys called out the instruction, the chess pieces came alive and moved across the board to their designated positions. The Winchesters moved closer; they knelt down by the coffee table, watching in fascination.

Mrs Weasley took a turn. “Knight to 3C.”

Mr Weasley countered swiftly, without really thinking about it. “Pawn to 5H!”

A smug smile appeared on Mrs Weasley’s face. “Knight to 5B.”

The knight’s horse neighed viciously and advanced forwards two spaces; there was a brief pause and then it wheeled to face Mr Weasley’s pawn. The pawn shuddered and held its tiny shield over its head. There was no mercy. The knight leapt onto 5B, his sword slashing into the chest of the little pawn. It keeled over and was dragged off the chess board.

“Oh bugger!” Mr Weasley sighed.

Dean’s eyes were huge. “Sam,” he breathed. “That is _so_ awesome!”

The game continued for another ten minutes before Mr Weasley withdrew to lick his wounds; his pocket now two knuts lighter than before.

Sam took up the mantle, playing a fiercely contested game against Mrs Weasley. He did win in the end, although it was a close call as Dean kept wanting him to just kill everything on the board, regardless of the rules.

It was a late night and left Sam a little richer and Dean desperately wanting a Wizards’ Chess board.

.

The call for breakfast came early the next morning. Everyone looked a little sleepy as they spooned down their porridge and treacle.

After coffee, Mrs Weasley led the way into the front room. While Mr Weasley was slipping into his robe, she took a small flower pot off the mantle shelf over the fireplace.

“You’ll be travelling by floo powder today. Now do remember that it is important that you speak clearly, take care to get out at the right grate, keep your elbows tucked in, shut your eyes, don’t fidget and _don’t_ panic. Arthur will go first, so he’s there to greet you at the other end. Hold out your hands.”

She placed a small handful of a sparkling black powder onto their palms. The Winchesters copied Mr Weasley, grasping it tightly.

“Now remember, we’re heading to DIAGON ALLEY. Make sure you speak the word clearly, because I don’t want to spend all day looking for you.”

“Diagon Alley,” said Sam clearly, turning to Dean and repeating it several times. Mr Weasley nodded approvingly and turned to face the fire. He tossed his handful of powder into the flames; as soon as they turned bright green he said “Diagon Alley” and then walked into the fire and promptly disappeared.

“Sonofabitch!” Dean looked horrified. He pushed Sam backwards a little. “I’ll go first, Sammy.”

He faced the fireplace, swallowing nervously. Ginny patted his arm, giving him a reassuring little smile. “Good luck,” she said softly.

Dean smiled a little awkwardly and then threw his floo powder into the flames. They flared green. “Diagon Alley,” he snapped, shutting his eyes and stepping into the fireplace.

Immediately his stomach shot into his mouth; he opened his eyes a crack and saw a bewildering kaleidoscope of fireplaces and rooms beyond, before the crazy ride slowed. Mr Weasley stood outside the fireplace, beckoning to him. Dean stumbled out into a dusty little room.

Sam arrived seconds later, dark smudges on his cheeks and his hair standing on end as though he’d been electrocuted.

Mr Weasley shepherded them out into a busy cobbled street, full of witches and wizards, clad mainly in robes and with quite a few pointy hats in evidence. The smell of hot chestnuts cooking filled the air. A shop beside them seemed to be selling a number of unusual pets; owls and singing toads were clearly in demand.

“This is Diagon Alley,” stated Mr Weasley proudly. “Now, before we go any further, the Ministry has given you both a welcome gift of some spending money.” He delved in his robes and retrieved two green velvet pouches, each weighty with coins.

“How about we start with a visit to Madam Malkin’s? It looks like you could both do with some new clothes.” He smiled kindly and led the way.

The Winchesters followed. They weren’t used to regular changes of clothes, sometimes it was a while before they could get to their laundry, but some fresh underwear and maybe a change of jeans and shirt wouldn’t go amiss. Everything they owned was still sitting in the Impala back in Colorado.

Madam Malkin’s was not like any clothes shop they’d seen before. As soon as they entered Sam was swept away behind a screen by Madam Malkin. A measuring tape shot up off the counter and followed her.

“So, what are we after then? Could I interest you in a plaid travelling cloak? The snow may be here soon.”

Sam was too distracted by the floating tape measure, that was taking his measurements, to pay much attention. Surely it wasn’t necessary for it to measure just there? Without realising it, he ordered himself a nice cloak.

.

Meanwhile, at The Burrow, Molly was settling down for a nice cup of tea when she heard their owl squawking in the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, Ginny came in and handed her the post before disappearing off to her room.

Molly took a sip of milky tea and opened the first envelope. She read, her eyes widening; the cup slipped from her grasp.

_“Dear Mr and Mrs Weasley,_

_We are extremely sorry about not turning up as planned. Unfortunately just before we were due to leave a close family member passed away. It was too late to get an owl to you._

_We do hope you will be agreeable to the exchange taking place in a few weeks and of course we look forward to Mr Weasley’s visit in the near future._

_With many apologies, your American friends,_

_Jake and Scott Smithson.”_

They had imposters staying in their house. Imposters who had not used any magic. Was it possible that muggles had found the port key and they were harbouring them in their home? At the very least, Arthur’s job and liberty were at risk. In the worst case scenario, all their lives were in danger.

Molly leapt to her feet, face flushing with anger. How dare they put her family in harm’s way!

.

Sam left Madam Malkin’s shop several gold coins lighter, wearing a grim expression and with a paper wrapped parcel under his arm. Dean was hanging onto the doorframe, laughing hysterically at his brother’s purchase.

“Remember to tuck it into your pants on the next salt’n’burn,” he cackled. “Don’t want Count Dracula, or should I say Count Sammy catching fire.”

“Stow it Dean,” Sam snapped. “You’re the one who thinks you’re Bat Man.”

The next stop was in a second hand shop full of magical items. Sam had spotted some very interesting books; he thought Bobby would give his back teeth for some of them.

Once inside they were greeted enthusiastically by a sales woman with a startling moustache. She seemed very keen to sell them a large crystal ball which was displayed on a table, set upon a small stage. She sang its praises for some time.

“… in the right hands they can be a powerful weapon.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah,” he muttered to Sam in an undertone, eyeing up the shiny glass sphere. “I can just see that bouncing off that oversized forehead you’ve got there.”

Sam jostled him with an elbow, a ‘shushing’ noise accompanying the frown that wrinkled his insulted forehead.

“Do feel free to give it a test run!” The little saleswoman gave Dean an encouraging look. “Remember now, concentrate hard on what you want to see, because otherwise it will simply show you whatever you most _wish_ to see.”

Sam pushed his brother forwards a little. “Your turn,” he said firmly. “I did the robe thing.”

Dean sighed, wondering how you were supposed to give a glass ball a test drive when it didn’t have an engine. He allowed himself to be ushered forwards onto the little platform. The table raised itself obligingly until the crystal ball was level with his chest.

“There you go dear, all yours.” The saleswoman smiled at him brightly, her moustache wriggling a little. “Now…” She turned to Sam. “While he’s busy, perhaps I can interest you in…”

Dean stopped listening. The ball was motionless in front of him, a solid lump of slightly dusty glass. He bit his lip, squinting at the whorls of a greasy fingerprint on its surface. He was thinking that something that showed prints so easily would be a danger to have around, whether or not it was a good missile, when the whorls seemed to blur. He blinked, unable to tear his gaze away as they began to swirl in an ever widening dark pattern. The shop around him disappeared, his vision filling with the whirlpool of dark colours. Somewhere very far down inside the whirlpool was a speck of red; he rushed down to meet it… falling towards an endless web lit from below by red flame. There was no geometric pattern to the strands of the web, although it was decorated at random intervals by dark blobs… dark blobs that twisted and screamed. His fall stopped abruptly. Directly beneath him the shredded remains of a man turned bloodshot eyes upon him, screaming his name through his father’s white teeth. Dean felt something snap inside him. “DAD!” he yelled, the word unheard over the roaring of the flames.

“Dean! _Dean…_ Hey man, come back to me.” Someone was tapping the side of his face, a large hand on his shoulder. Dean realised he was sitting on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf. Sam’s face swam blearily in front of him.

“Breathe, Dean. Breathe nice and slow.” He gasped in air, heart hammering.

“It’s okay, really. He’ll be fine. We’ll just get some air.” Sam’s voice, smoothing over the high pitched tones of the saleswoman.

Someone, Sam, pulled him to his feet and walked him out of the shop. Dean gasped as the cold air of Diagon Alley hit his face. He gagged a little.

“Jeez Dean, are you okay. What _was_ that? I only turned my back for a couple of minutes… are you goin’ to hurl?”

Dean did, puking his guts up against the shop wall, dimly aware of Sam’s hands supporting him, rubbing his back.

Mr Weasley waved his wand, muttering something under his breath. The vomit vanished.

Dean’s face was chalk white, sweaty. When Sam tried to make eye contact the green gaze slid right past him to focus on mid-air. His brother’s breaths were shallow, fast.

“Dean.” Sam tried to ground him. “Listen to me. Breathe nice and slow, okay. C’mon, don’t go into shock on me.”

He caught Dean as his brother’s knees folded, pushing him up against the wall and holding him there with his own body weight. “Arthur! I need to lie him down. Is there anywhere we can go?”

Mr Weasley was distracted, staring at something further up the street. Sam became aware that people were milling around in panic. There were some screams and then a witch ran past, her wand out, heading in that direction.

“Oh my goodness!” Mr Weasley looked alarmed. He caught at the arm of an elderly wizard who was shuffling away from the commotion and exchanged a few words with him. He turned back to Sam.

“Right,” he said. “Follow me. We need to leave, right now!”

“Dean!” Sam turned to his brother, urgency in his tone.

Dean was shaking, but nodded. “I’m okay…” He held onto Sam’s sleeve and forced himself fully upright. Mr Weasley sent a sharp look in their direction and darted off across the street. Sam followed with large strides, the fingers of one hand gripping onto his brother’s jacket, hurrying him along.

Mr Weasley turned into a narrow, dark alleyway and pushed open a battered door, leading them into a dusty little room, empty but for a fireplace against one wall. He took out some floo powder.

“Right,” he said. “You know the ropes. You first.”

Dean stared at him blankly. Sam grasped a handful of the powder, poured it into his brother’s palm and closed his fingers around it.

“C’mon Dean,” he said encouragingly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He pushed him towards the fireplace, steadying him with one hand. “Remember, The Burrow. Nice and clear.”

Dean’s fist was white, gripping onto the powder. “The Burrow,” he said dully and disappeared. Sam followed him seconds later.

.

Molly had her wand in her hand the moment she heard the commotion in the chimney. Dean’s leather jacket came into view. She pointed the wand at him, a fierce look on her face.

He landed awkwardly, staggering against the side of the chimney and bringing down a small shower of black soot, then half-fell into the living room.

“Just stay right there,” she began, her voice sharp. He looked up, still dazed from his arrival; his face was so white and so hurt that her wand dropped of its own volition.

Seconds later Sam crashed into the fireplace and rolled out, his hands reaching immediately for his brother. He pushed him backwards into a chair as Mr Weasley burst out of the fireplace, his hair wild.

“Arthur?” Molly forgot about the Winchesters and rushed to her husband. “What on earth has happened?”


	6. Chapter 6

Mr Weasley’s eyes shunted from his wife’s anxious face to his guests. Sam was kneeling on the floor in front of his brother, who sat on the edge of one of the armchairs. Sam’s large hand was fisted in the front of Dean’s jacket; he seemed to be holding him upright. The other hand was cupped around the back of Dean’s neck and he was speaking to him in a low voice, urgency in the tone.

“Arthur! What’s wrong? God, what has happened?” Molly’s voice was urgent.

Mr Weasley turned back to his wife. “Molly, something dreadful, something awful. There’s been a killing.” He looked down at her, taking in the wand grasped in her hand. Alarm sharpened his tone. “Why do you have your wand out? Has something happened here too? Is Ginny okay?”

Mrs Weasley glanced quickly at their guests. “We’re fine, in a manner of speaking. What’s happened to Dean? Did he witness the killing?” She tightened the grip on her wand. Did he have something to do with it?

“No, no; he looked into a crystal ball in Diagon Alley and just fell to pieces. Maybe it had been touched by dark magic? The saleswoman was very keen to get rid of it…” He furrowed his brow and murmured “…then everything else happened and I just got us all out of there.”

Mrs Weasley’s voice was sharp, directed at Dean. “Crystal ball! I doubt it was touched by dark magic; he wouldn’t even still be standing. Maybe he saw some truth in it,” she spat.

To her shock, Dean flinched as though he’d been struck. Sam gave him a little shake by the front of his jacket. He sounded frantic.

“Dean! What did you see?”

“Dad. It was Dad. It’s all my fault…” Dean’s hand was shaking as he tore Sam’s hand off his clothing. He pushed himself to his feet, addressing Mrs Weasley.

“What d’you mean, the truth? What do you know?”

Mrs Weasley was torn; her instinct to be motherly warring with her anger at the danger brought upon her family.

“I know this much,” she said firmly, raising her wand in their direction. “You are not wizards; you’re muggles! You should never have been using that portkey. Have you any idea how much danger you’ve put my family in! Arthur could lose his job, or worse, be thrown into Azkaban!”

Sam turned to her, keeping one hand on his brother’s arm and eyeing her steady wand. “I can explain,” he pleaded. “Please, let’s all just calm down. I’ll explain everything.”

Mr Weasley was speechless. He puffed up his chest a little, ready to express his anger, then suddenly focussed properly on the anxious young man before him, who was clearly supporting the wreckage of his brother. Whatever their story was and whatever decisions needed to be made, this was not a matter to be treated lightly or without full consideration. After all he was a fair man.

“Molly,” he said firmly. “I think we’ll all sit down and have a cup of tea. We’ll sort this mess out like the civilised people we are.”

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth and then shut it again. She puffed a little exasperated breath and then gestured at the table.

“Sit,” she said to Sam, peering rather anxiously at Dean. “Your brother looks like he’s about to faint.”

It was a measure of Dean’s distress that he made no protest at the suggestion he might be the sort of person who fainted.

After Molly set a steaming cup of tea down in front of everyone, Sam began describing the nightmare of the life he and his brother led. After all, these were the sort of people who would understand.

“We hunt monsters. Evil things. We save people. It’s what we do. It’s the family business.” Sam looked at them with earnest hazel eyes, wondering how on earth he was going to explain to a family of witches and wizards that he and his brother regularly hunted their kin.

“Evil things?” Mr Weasley looked interested. “What exactly do you mean by evil?”

Sam spoke carefully, trying not to cause offence, giving a brief run-down on supernatural beings such as wendigos, vampires, unquiet spirits and anything that didn’t sound as though the Weasleys might have it as a relative or keep it as a pet.

“Most spirits, of course, are perfectly harmless if handled correctly!” Mr Weasley looked rather stern, peering at them over his cup of tea. “But I do agree there are some things out there that are simply up to no good. As a matter of fact we have our own variety of you muggle hunters, some are called Aurors and so forth. No, Molly…” He raised a hand at Mrs Weasley’s soft protest. “The young man is being honest with us, the least we can do is return the courtesy.”

Mrs Weasley re-filled the teacups. Dean’s was untouched. She tipped the contents down the sink and filled it with fresh, hot tea, pushing it towards him along with a small chocolate bar wrapped in brown paper. “Drink a little and have a chunk or two, dear,” she said, not unkindly. “It will make you feel better.” Followed by a sweet smile.

Dean’s gaze remained fixed on his own hands, clasped in front of him on the table top. His long fingers were white with tension. Sam doubted that he’d heard a single word of the conversation.

Mrs Weasley turned to Sam. “So what are we, to you, monsters? _We_ aren’t monsters to be hunted.”

Sam looked horrified. “No. God no! We never thought that! There was a young woman, in Colorado, who went missing. Someone said she’d just disappeared. We went to investigate and touched the portkey…”

“The newspaper clipping; the one with the young female muggle?” Mr Weasley was no fool. “That’s why you had it on you?”

Sam nodded, feeling guilty.

“I don’t understand,” said Mr Weasley, giving each word weighty significance. “It’s ludicrous that you didn’t just ask?”

Sam looked down, embarrassed.

“Oh, I see,” said Mrs Weasley. “You thought it may have been us. Arthur, they thought we were murderers, barbarians!”

“No!” Sam protested. “We, we didn’t know…”

Mr Weasley finished for him. “You didn’t know quite what we were. Quite right. You’ve never met ‘monsters’ like us before have you? Don’t you see, Molly, the young men were just being cautious, finding out what was what before stating their business. You or I, in a similar situation, may well have acted in the same way.”

“Our first responsibility is to the girl.” Sam spoke quietly. “We want to see if she’s okay, get her back home to her family.”

“Indeed. That is a priority.” Mr Weasley was decisive. “I shall look into the matter for you. I’ll be going to the Ministry immediately; no doubt I shall find out more about the terrible incident today. The poor elderly wizard I spoke to was clearly confused and scared. All he kept saying was that Henry Wrigglebottom was killed by himself.” He looked at his wife, concern in his eyes. “Molly?”

Mrs Weasley returned her husband’s gaze. “We’ll be fine Arthur. If these young men had wished us harm, they’d have done it by now.”

Minutes later Mr Weasley was gone in a swish of robes. There was a sharp cracking noise from the garden as he disapparated.

.

After a slightly uncomfortable forty minutes, Mr Weasley was back, his hair wild, cheeks blushed and a certain sternness to his step.

“It’s true, the rumours are true…” He shook his head in disbelief. He re-joined them at the kitchen table, fists clenched. “Right…” he hesitated. “The good news first. The muggle girl, she’s fine; she was picked up by the Ministry hours after arrival, taken back home and the Obliviate charm was performed.”

“Obliviate charm?” Sam questioned, sounding slightly worried.

“Oh yes, forgot you were muggles for a moment there. Just a simple charm to make someone forget something and replace it with something else. Harmless.”

Sam nodded, thinking there had been a few situations when that would’ve been very useful.

“And the bad news?” Dean asked in a dull tone.

“Ah…” Mr Weasley retrieved a newspaper from his cloak and flattened it out on the table for all of them to read.

_“ **Death in Diagon Alley! Caught on camera! Witnessed by innocent shoppers!** Our own Daily Prophet photographer, Lucellia Plad (aged 21), was on assignment for a forthcoming article on the history of Diagon Alley when a horrific murder occurred right before her camera lens! (As seen in photo below.) Mr Henry Wrigglebottom, on a mission to purchase new books, was struck down by a cloaked assailant who snapped his neck, killing him instantly. The killer stood over his body and was revealed to be none other than Henry Wrigglebottom himself. He then scarpered before anyone could apprehend him. There seems to be no simple explanation; the Wizarding World has been thrown into shock by this vile act. Are dark times to start again, so soon?”_

In the middle of the page was a large moving image showing the smiling killer, Mr Wrigglebottom, standing over the victim, Mr Wrigglebottom.

Wordlessly, Sam pointed at the killer’s eyes, shining silver in the flash from the camera.

“Shapeshifter; we could help with that.” Dean grunted.

“A snakeshifter?” Mr Weasley asked, confused.

“No.” Sam clarified. “A shapeshifter… from our world.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What exactly is a shapeshifter?” asked Mr Weasley.

“A shapeshifter can make itself look like any human being.” Dean explained.

“They shed their skin, teeth and nails. When they change into the person's physical appearance, they also access the thoughts of the person they’re mimicking. Some shapeshifters change their shape in seconds; others take several hours.” Sam interjected.

“Like a snake.” Mrs Weasley gasped. Mr Weasley leaned across the table and took her hand in a comforting manner.

“Does it have a weakness?” he asked.

“Yeah, silver.” Dean looked questioningly at Sam. “Don’t suppose you brought any silver bullets with you?”

Sam shook his head.

“I guess it’ll have to be a silver knife then.”

“I think it’ll be easy enough to find a silver dagger in Diagon Alley.” Mr Weasley offered. “Maybe one of you could quickly pop back with me and find one that’s suitable?”

“I’ll go.” Dean grunted.

“No.” Sam said, looking at his older brother in concern. Dean still looked far too pale.

“No, quite right, you can stay here and rest. You’ve done enough for today.” Mrs Weasley backed him up in a stern voice.

“I’m fine, Sam!” Dean sounded irritated, pushing himself up from the table.

“Look, dear.” Mrs Weasley held up a hand. “You have no choice in the matter. You need to rest. If you try to leave I shall perform the petrificus totalus charm.”

Dean looked shocked, raising an eyebrow at Sam. “Did she just say what I thought she did?”

The boys’ Latin was rather good, courtesy of John Winchester. Sam huffed with laughter. “I think it might have been, Dean. Maybe you’d better just stay.”

“What! Dude! You’re gonna let her curse me!”

“Dean, calm down. She’s not _cursing_ you, just kinda threatening you with a charm if you try to leave. But you know, I agree with her. You need to sit this one out. We’re only goin’ shopping! When it’s time for hunting you can take the lead.”

.

Sam joined Mr Weasley in the garden, looking rather hesitant.

“Take hold of my hand now, don’t worry, it’ll just feel like the portkey did.” Mr Weasley took a firm grip of Sam’s wrist. Sam scrunched his eyes together and a split second later they were in a little stone alley way. “Are you alright there lad?” Mr Weasley asked, holding Sam’s shoulder in support.

Sam felt like he was going to retch for a moment but steadied himself. “Yeah, I’ll never get used to that.”

Dusk was already dropping and Diagon Alley was all pools of warm lamplight and lantern lit shopfronts.

“Best get a shimmy on, otherwise the shop will be shut for the night.” Mr Weasley hurried Sam along with a hand on his elbow. He headed straight for a dimly lit shop. A flickering candle illuminated an impressive display of daggers, swords and knives in the dusty window.

“Splendid, they’re still open.” He beamed, pushing open the door. A tiny bell rang enthusiastically.

“Bonne soirée mon ami!” A small round French man in a knitted vest shrilled.

“Ah Bernie, I thought that you’d still be open.” Mr Weasley beamed.

“Oui, oui. It is zat time of year, when folk are getting ready for ze Christmas and need leettle knick-knacks for ze kiddies. Now what can I get you?” He asked enthusiastically.

For kiddies? Sam thought; the shop was filled with knives, skulls, deadly weapons and what was quite possibly vials of poison. Dean would’ve loved this shop as a kid. In fact he’d love it now.

“Now, we’re in need of a silver dagger or knife?” Mr Weasley looked hopeful.

“Hmmm… I do believe we sold ze last silver dagger this morning to a little boy. He was very ‘appy!” He pondered for a while. “I’ve sold out of ze silver knives too… umm… I do believe I may ‘ave something in ze back though. Wait ‘ere.” He bustled off into the back room; the sound of objects being thrown around filled the tiny shop.

Sam shifted position slightly. The ceiling of the shop was so low he had to stoop a little. His head collided with a rusty ball and chain.

“Careful there, lad. Don’t want to lose an eye!”

Sam ducked a little lower, forgetting about his aching shoulders when Bernie popped back into the shop.

“HaHA! Found it!” He held out his hand. On the palm was a small, black velvet pouch. Sam looked at it in dismay. Surely he wasn’t going to have to face a shapeshifter with a silver toothpick?

“Hopefully this will do; everywhere else is closed at this time of night.” Mr Weasley whispered at Sam. Sam thought it was highly doubtful.

“Right, I will do you a deal, seeing as we’re such old friends.” Bernie twinkled. “25 galleons for ze two.”

Great, Sam thought, _two_ tooth picks.

Bernie opened the small pouch and shouted “VOILA!” as he pulled out two long silver swords, both encrusted with a purple gem stone.

Sam stood, open mouthed. What was crazier, that Bernie pulled two broad swords out of a 2 by 2 pouch, or that he and Dean would have to fight a shapeshifter with swords.

Mr Weasley searched his wallet, already knowing he didn’t have the money.

“No, I’ve got it.” Sam said “You’ve done enough for us; let me pay with the money I have left.”

Mr Weasley, relieved, moved aside so Sam could get to the counter.

“I hope you are very ‘appy with ze purchase.” Bernie shouted after them as they left the shop.

.

Dean was having a nice, hot, orange and yellow coloured bubble bath. The water was strewn with dandelion petals; occasionally some of the magical bubbles transformed themselves into honey bees and flew around the room, humming softly. Obviously Mrs Weasley had forced this upon him, much to his disgust

Dean was swatting a honey bee from his face when he heard Sam and Mr Weasley arrive. He leaped out of the bath; he would never hear the last of it if Sam caught him in a bath full of flower petals. He searched frantically for his clothes, but they were missing and had been replaced with one of Mr Weasley’s tartan bathrobes. He pulled it on hurriedly and headed for the door. As he swung the door open he was startled to see a small cupid hovering in the hallway, playing a tiny harp. Immediately he was pounced on by a rather amorous bunny slipper; it was growling and had small love hearts popping above its head.

“Crap! Get offa me you flop-eared freak!” Dean booted the slipper in the direction of the cupid and ran for the stairs. A sad wail of despair echoed along the landing from the slipper and Dean was sure he heard the cupid swear.

“What are you doing here?” He heard Ginny ask the slipper as he jumped down the last few steps.

Sam looked up in amazement as his brother burst into the room, clad in only a tartan bathrobe and with a small, humming honey bee sat on top of his wet, spiky hair.

“Err, Dean?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t ask Sammy! JUST DON’T ASK!”

“Okaaay.” Some things were better left alone. Sam held out the tiny pouch. “Look,” he said happily. “We got the weapons.”

“Sonofabitch!” Dean’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. This was the last straw! “What the f…” The words were cut off abruptly as Sam clapped a large hand over his mouth.

“Dean!” He hissed, rolling his eyes in Mrs Weasley’s direction. “Calm down! They’re swords, look.”

He pulled the two broadswords out of the pouch. Dean deflated immediately. He’d always wanted a broadsword. He took hold of one of the weapons almost reverently.

“Awesome!”

He swung it around his head experimentally. A few ornaments ducked out of the way.

.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing strategies and the most likely place a shapeshifter could be hiding in or around Diagon Alley. They concluded that they would wake just before dawn and head to Diagon Alley to search the sewer system. Mr Weasley would accompany the Winchesters to show them the best route into the sewers and, in his words, he may not have fought a shapeshifter before but he certainly had the ability to at least put it on its arse for a while if that proved necessary.

.


	8. Chapter 8

“Dad!”

Dean stretched as far as he could, fingertips brushing his father’s blood slicked hand.

“Please Dad, just grab my hand… c’mon!”

Flames and heat boiled beneath them in the abyss. John cried out, lurching upwards until his son could grasp his hand.

Dean gripped hard, pulled upwards. “C’mon, _c’mon_ …”

At first there was no movement, then something gave. He gave a shout, half encouragement and half relief. The movement was suddenly easy, too easy. To his horror the skin and flesh peeled off John’s hand, the skeletal remains falling back out of reach.

Dean awoke, choking back a scream, his fingers twisted into the blankets. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to muffle his high pitched gasps for breath, feeling the sweat sliding down between his shoulder blades.

“ _Dad…!”_ His breathing began to slow and he swung his legs down to the floor and sat up, heart pounding. To his relief, Sam was still soundly asleep.

Dean picked up his boots and dragged his leather jacket on over his t-shirt and joggers. He needed some fresh air, was too afraid to go back to sleep and risk another nightmare. He crept quietly out of the room and down the wooden stairs.

To his surprise, the kitchen was lit with its customary warm, yellow light. Someone was up already. Dean paused part-way down the stairs, undecided, then turned to go back up.

Molly’s voice stilled him. “There’s fresh tea in the pot, if you’d like some?”

Dean peered under the beam and saw that Molly was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen. Long knitting needles flashed in front of her as a maroon garment took shape.

“Hi.” He smiled weakly and took the remaining stairs down into the kitchen, the cold from the floor tiles striking into the soles of his feet.

Molly observed him over her knitting needles, her gaze sharp. Without warning she rose and walked quickly over to him. She peered up at the pain written on his face and the shadows of nightmare in his eyes, then pulled him into a motherly hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, patting his back.

Dean froze; for a moment he almost pulled away and then the painful knot in his chest seemed to twist and give way a little, responding to the warmth and comfort. Unsure but almost relieved, he leaned forwards and slowly put his arms around her, let his cheek rest against her soft hair as his chin dropped onto the small shoulder.

“Nightmare,” he blurted, with no idea why he was talking to this woman he hardly knew. He closed his eyes, hanging on to the warmth as he breathed in lavender and rosemary. He was shaking and he wasn’t sure why. The words spilled out unbidden, words he’d barely shared even with Sam.

“My Dad, our Dad… he died.” His fingers wound tighter into the crocheted wool of her shawl as he whispered. “It’s my fault. I was dead; I shoulda stayed dead.” Even as he spoke, he knew he couldn’t explain further.

Molly weighed her words carefully, sensing his dilemma. When she spoke it was a simple truth.

“I don’t think your brother would be able to cope without you.”

The response was unexpected and the truth behind the words suddenly glaringly obvious. Dean pulled in a deep breath. It didn’t make anything right; it would never bring his father back, but it made sense of how to cope with this moment in time. He was here to look out for Sammy, just like he’d always been.

He stepped backwards, freeing himself gently. He met her gaze directly, the full impact of his intense eyes startling at that distance.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Molly smiled. “How about that cup of tea then?”

He nodded, grinned ruefully. “I’m gettin’ to like this tea… don’t go tellin’ Sammy though.”

“Our secret.” Molly patted his arm and turned to the teapot. “Pull up a chair; maybe you can tell me a bit about America. I hear they put _syrup_ on their bacon over there?”

.

Half an hour later, Molly sent him upstairs to wake Sam. A tight little knot of worry grew under her breastbone. It was almost time to send the boys and Arthur off to Diagon Alley, where the unfamiliar danger of a shapeshifter was waiting. She wished she could go and help out, but there was no-one to look after Ginny.

.

Dean opened the bedroom door and found an angry looking bunny slipper perched on his pillow, with small cracked hearts and lightning bolts swirling above its head. It had a strained expression on its face; there was a little grunting, farting noise and the slipper stuck its tongue out at him before leaping to the open window.

Dean followed at speed, a half-formed thought in his mind that he didn’t want to explain to Ginny that he’d driven her slipper to suicide. The slipper sneered and launched itself off the window ledge with a little “Wheee!” A bright yellow and red parachute cracked open and it floated gently down to the grass below and hopped off into the bushes.

Relieved, Dean turned back to his bed, lip raising in disgust as he spotted the small pile of brown droppings on his pillow.

“Sonofabitch!”

Sam’s head shot up immediately; he blinked blearily. “Dean?”

Dean’s chin dropped. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at his brother. “Sammy!”

He scooped up the pile of brown droppings and held them out on his palm. “Dude, you gotta try one of these candies; they’re awesome!”

Sam frowned. “Candy _before_ breakfast, Dean!”

Dean’s eyes opened wide. “They’re magical Sam. Look like chocolate, taste awesome, but they’re full of vitamins and like… ground salad and stuff.” He moved his hand a little, letting a well-practised innocent and slightly childish expression of awe creep onto his face.

Sam huffed, hummed and then cautiously took a brown dropping. He sniffed at it, raised an eyebrow and popped it into his mouth. Dean watched, his eyes fixed on the chewing motions of Sam’s jaw.

“Yeah, good.” Sam reached out and took a few more droppings. “Good call dude.” He tipped them into his mouth and headed out to the bathroom.

Dean curled his lip, eyeing the remaining droppings. Carefully he raised them to his nose, sniffed. They did smell like chocolate.

“Uh…” He put one slowly into his mouth. Definitely chocolate. He grinned. Of course a cute bunny slipper wouldn’t poop anything but chocolate. He bit down. “Aghhh…” Chocolate covered raison. He hated raisons. He spat it out of the window and put the rest of the droppings on Sam’s bed.

.

With a huge cracking noise the Winchesters and Mr Weasley arrived in a dark alleyway leading off Diagon Alley.

“This way boys.” Mr Weasley swirled his dark cloak around him, blending in with the shadowed brickwork as he led the way down a few crumbling steps and under an archway. “There’s a sewer entrance here. I particularly remember tripping over the manhole cover last Christmas. Molly said it was too many ales at The Leaky Cauldron, but personally I hold poor workmanship to blame. There’s no excuse for a loose manhole cover even down here; wizards will always take short cuts when they can.”

He pointed his wand at a slightly raised piece of ironwork in the alley floor.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The manhole cover shuddered and twisted with a harsh grating sound of metal against rusty metal. It floated up into the air and settled against the wall, releasing a foul odour into the fresh morning air.

“Friggin’ shapeshifters!” Dean dragged his sleeve over his nose. “Why can’t they live in a house like everybody else.”

“ _We_ don’t live in a house,” Sam pointed out mildly. “And why would they want to make it easy for us to catch them?”

“Sometimes, Sammy, I don’t think you’re even on our side.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Well, SAM, how about you go first…” Dean thrust out an arm. “Hell no, I’ll go first.” He approached the dark hole and flicked on his torch.

“I say! A light stick!” Admiration coloured Mr Weasley’s tone, as he illuminated his wand. “Lumos.”

Dean peered down into the sewer. The metal rungs of a ladder led down to a brick-lined tunnel. He sighed, took a deep breath of fresh air and set his boots on the ladder.

The sewer was a section of the old Victorian sewers running under parts of London. They walked along the narrow, slippery brick ledge, foul water running in the deep channel inches from their feet. The stench was unbelievable. Slime dripped down the curved walls, brushing against their clothing. Rats squeaked angrily and fled before the moving circles of light.

“I do hope Ron is looking after Scabbers.” Mr Weasley murmured to himself. “He was looking a bit peaky before he went.”

They’d travelled about a mile underground when they heard a sudden roaring, gushing noise. They stopped, looking puzzled. Comprehension suddenly dawned on Mr Weasley’s face. He whipped his wand in the air and an umbrella formed at the end as he swung it to cover his head. A gush of shitty water flooded out of an unseen, small, head-height side pipe. It hit the umbrella with force and rebounded upwards into Sam’s face. Sam teetered on the brick ledge, almost losing his footing and falling into the main channel before Mr Weasley grasped his jacket and yanked him back to safety.

Dean covered his nose, cackling uncontrollably as he took in the stained toilet paper plastered to Sam’s hair. Sam glared at him.

“Rather you than me.” Mr Weasley noted brightly.

Sam stared at the offending umbrella as it folded itself neatly away into the wand. Dean set off again, still chuckling. Mr Weasley and then Sam followed, his timing unfortunate as he passed the end of the side pipe as the final spurt of shitty water gushed out into his face. Sam gritted his teeth, making sure they were both within range when he shook his head like a wet dog.

A few minutes later, Mr Weasley paused. “Ahh,” he said. “By any chance are we looking for a massive pile of skin?” He leaned around Dean and pointed his wand, the light glowing more brightly than that of the torches. A wet, slimy pile lay on the ledge some way ahead, at the entrance to a large side tunnel.

Dean approached cautiously, stepping over the pile of discarded skin. He shone his torch into the side tunnel as the others crowded behind him. At first there was nothing but shadow, then the darkness shifted and a pair of eyes glinted silver.


	9. Chapter 9

_Dean approached cautiously, stepping over the pile of discarded skin. He shone his torch into the side tunnel as the others crowded behind him. At first there was nothing but shadow, then the darkness shifted and a pair of eyes glinted silver._

Dean hefted the silver sword in his grip. “Gotcha!”

“I think we’ve got it cornered lads!” Mr Weasley’s voice was shrill with excitement. He lifted his wand, a bright surge of light flooding down the side tunnel. “Amazing! It looks just like poor old Henry Wrigglebottom!"

The shapeshifter sneered at them and turned on its heels; it sprinted away further into the side tunnel, moving faster than Henry Wrigglebottom had moved for years. Dean broke into a run, Sam close behind and Mr Weasley doing his best to keep up.

“Sonofabitch!” Dean slid to a halt on the slippery surface as he rounded a bend in the tunnel. The tunnel split off in three directions; there was no indication which one the shapeshifter had taken.

“We’re going to have to split up.” Mr Weasley panted, leaning against the side of the tunnel to catch his breath.

The Winchesters looked at him, unsure. Was the wizard powerful enough to stand up to an irate shapeshifter?

Mr Weasley read their expressions easily. “There’s not much choice is there boys,” he said mildly. “There’s three tunnels and three of us.” He took a firm grip of his wand. “Not to worry, if I come upon the umm… snakesneaker, I’ll simply stupefy him until you arrive.”

Sam nodded reluctantly and they each took a tunnel.

Dean had only walked for a few minutes when he reached a dead end. He swung his torch around; there was no possible exit. He set off back towards the others at a jog trot.

Sam was moving forwards cautiously. His tunnel seemed to be decreasing rapidly in height. He was bent almost double, with little room to manoeuvre if he was attacked. He’d just decided to turn back when he heard Mr Weasley shout out.

Mr Weasley had reached another junction. He stopped, unsure what to do and sent a ball of light down the tunnel on his left. It bobbed along, crackling slightly, its light showing nothing but the dull shine of slimy walls.

Unhurried footsteps sounded behind him. “Ah Dean, is that you? Unfortunately we’ve reached another junction. Is Sam with you?”

There was no reply, just the faint splashing sound of the footsteps. Mr Weasley’s skin prickled; he shone the light from his wand into the tunnel to his right. A dark shadow leapt forwards at him, eyes flashing silver in the light. Before he could even think of a spell, it shoved him to the floor and was gone.

“Dear God!” Mr Weasley staggered to his feet. He put the tip of his wand to his neck, projecting his voice to megaphone volumes.

“SAM! DEAN! THIS WAY!”

The sound of running boots filled the tunnels, echoing back from the damp walls. Soon after the Winchesters appeared.

“Arthur! Are you okay?” Sam asked anxiously.

“Yes I’m fine. He ran this way… quick!” Mr Weasley ran down the left hand tunnel, the light from his wand bobbing up and down, making the dark shadows dance in a menacing way.

About half a mile down the tunnel they slowed as an unearthly scream bounced back off the brickwork around them.

“He’s changing form.” Dean broke into a sprint again. A half-changed shapeshifter was a vulnerable shapeshifter.

As they neared the shrieks of pain it became hard to keep their footing. This was obviously the shapeshifter’s lair as piles of skin were littered randomly across the tunnel flooring. The Winchesters rounded a corner, Mr Weasley having dropped some way behind again. There was an enormous cracking sound and a brilliant flare of blue light. Dean was thrown backwards into Sam and they both went to the floor, stunned.

The shapeshifter, now an exact duplicate of Mr Weasley, smiled and twirled the twin of Mr Weasley’s wand in his hand. He stepped delicately over the fallen Winchesters.

“Nice wand,” he said with a self-satisfied hiss in his voice, the tone sounding foreign from Mr Weasley’s lips. “This is a more powerful wizard than the last one.”

As Mr Weasley rounded the corner he stopped in shock, taking in the sight of the crumpled Winchesters and an evilly smiling mirror image of himself.

A flaming panther erupted from the tip of the shapeshifter’s wand, snarling and leaping towards Mr Weasley. He reacted immediately. “Aqua eructo!” he bellowed, releasing a flood of ice-blue light and a powerful jet of water that hit the panther with force, smashing the flames into broken twists of fire that floated over his head as he cowered back behind the curve in the tunnel wall.

Panting, his cheeks scorched slightly, he quickly turned back into the chaos.

“Flipendo,” he shouted, knocking the shapeshifter back, following it immediately with “Stupify!”

The shapeshifter was thrown back into the tunnel wall and slid down to slump on the floor. Sam and Dean began to stir, the effects of the stunning were wearing off fast. Mr Weasley joined them, crouching by their sides.

“Dean, Sam, are you okay?” A slight shrill to his voice.

Dean sat up, holding his head. “Look out!” he shouted; he pulled Mr Weasley to the ground as a flash of green snapped against the wall behind them.

The shapeshifter had recovered from Mr Weasley’s spell more quickly than he anticipated. Perhaps it was because it was not really human?

Sam tugged at Dean’s arm, his face anxious. “Dean,” he hissed. “Which one is Arthur?”

Mr Weasley was already on his feet, firing spells back at his double; shots of coloured flashes lit the dark tunnel as they duelled.

“Confingo,” the shapeshifter screamed; a side wall exploded and burst into powerful flames. Mr Weasley was thrown backwards and sprawled on the ground.

The shapeshifter sneered and turned his attention to the Winchesters. Sam was already on his feet, swaying as he lifted his sword.

“Crucio!” The spell hit with a cruel force. Sam’s mouth opened in a soundless scream and he dropped to his knees in agony as every pain receptor in his nervous system was set alight, sending excruciating pain to every part of his body.

“Sam!” Dean was at his side instantly, hands grasping helplessly at his brother’s arms as Sam collapsed onto the tunnel floor, heels drumming and back arching in agony.

Mr Weasley slammed into the shapeshifter and they both went to the floor in a tangle of struggling limbs. The cruciatus curse lifted immediately and Sam went limp, gasping for breath as tears of pain leaked from the corner of his eyes.

Dean scrabbled on the floor, fastened his fingers around the hilt of his sword and got to his feet.

“Dean! Help!” One of the figures tussling on the floor yelled to him. He had no idea if it was Mr Weasley or not. Unsure, he edged closer as they regained their feet.

“What did I see in the glass ball?” he shouted desperately.

“Your Dad!” “In Hell!” They shouted simultaneously.

Dean bit his lip, the tip of his sword swinging from one to the other.

“You were bitten by a gnome!” The shapeshifter called. “It’s me, Dean! I’m Arthur!”

It wasn’t enough for a life or death decision.

Mr Weasley was rattling his brain for something to say, something small, innocuous, tucked away in the depths of his memory… like a salt shaker.

“Salt.” He yelled suddenly. “You steal salt!”

Dean furrowed his brow, taken aback, looking for more of a clue than ‘salt’.

“At the dinner table the first night you arrived.” Mr Weasley continued urgently. “You poured salt into your pocket!”

Dean lunged at the shapeshifter with his sword above his head, bringing it down hard and fast; the shapeshifter cast a spell which threw Dean back into the wall. He raised his wand again but his spell was deflected from Dean by Mr Weasley’s hastily shouted, “Protego!”

The shapeshifter spun around. “Crucio!”

Mr Weasley crumpled to the ground with a howl of pain, trying desperately to fight the effects and keep his eyes on his double. He couldn’t leave the boys to deal with wizard magic by themselves.

Sam was on his knees. “You asshole,” he snarled, pulling his sword towards him. Dean was already back on his feet, sword at the ready as he stumbled forwards.

Something flickered in the shapeshifter’s eyes. His mouth pulled back into a humourless smile. Mr Weasley had seen that expression before, in the eyes of a dark wizard… he who must not be named.

“No!” He shouted, forcing his wand to point in the shapeshifter’s direction.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” There was a note of triumph in the shapeshifter’s shout as a flash of green light exploded from his wand with a roaring, rushing sound. It arced towards Dean.

“BOMBARD MAXIMA!!” Mr Weasley’s desperate yell broke through the roar. A bright lightning bolt hit the tunnel wall just in front of Dean with tremendous force. The wall exploded into the tunnel in a torrent of smashed brick and earth. The green arc of the Avada Kedavra curse spent itself uselessly in the debris with a horrendous crack, causing part of the tunnel roof to collapse onto Dean.

“DEAN!”

Mr Weasley dropped back to the floor, unable to resist the cruciatus curse any longer.

The enraged shapeshifter swung towards him and was raising his wand when Sam’s silver sword sliced open his abdomen. He staggered back, face crumpling in shock, caught his heel on a fallen brick and fell backwards onto the blade of Dean’s sword that was sticking up out of the rubble. A bubbling shriek broke from his lips; he writhed, grabbed at the blade with shaking hands, blood gushed from the corner of his mouth and his eyes glazed.

Mr Weasley rolled up onto his knees as Sam leapt over the fallen rubble.

“Dean!” Sam pulled bricks off his brother. Dean coughed, wiping brick dust out of his eyes.

“Please tell me that asshat is dead,” he muttered, batting Sam’s hands away from his leg.

“Dead as a doornail,” said Mr Weasley in a sombre tone. He was not a killer by nature, but he was a protector.


	10. Chapter 10

Mr Weasley poked the crumpled body of the shapeshifter, regarding it with macabre interest. It was as dead as a dodo and still looked just like him. He raised his voice to carry over the mound of bricks and dirt.

“We can’t leave the body here. What would you normally do in this situation?”

“Burn it.” Sam sounded distracted, his voice muffled by the fallen debris.

“Umm,” Mr Weasley pondered. That would mean transporting it out of the tunnel and was bound to draw attention. Perhaps if it was smaller?

“I’ll see to it,” he called, pointing his wand at the corpse. “I’m sure you were a misunderstood creature,” he said softly, slowly turning his wand in a clockwise direction. A soft, pink glow enveloped the body; it trembled and began to shrink rapidly, the shape altering as it reduced. Moments later he held a small red and black butterfly in the palm of his hand. It was quite dead and oddly appropriate for a creature that had spent its life transforming from one form to another.

After a brief pause, he cast the butterfly up into the air, sending a slender, silvery stream of light after it from his wand. The silver light hit the tiny corpse; there was a brief burst of coloured sparks and the butterfly disappeared.

A bitten off curse attracted his attention. Mr Weasley climbed over the rubble, careful not to twist an ankle.

Sam had cleared most of the debris away from his brother and was cautiously removing bricks from his left leg. Dean hissed, his hands involuntarily rising to ward off the interference.

“Keep still dude.” Sam’s voice was tight, his eyes anxious under the dust encrusted bangs. “We gotta get you out of here.”

The sound of traffic on the street above the sewer filtered through to them. A fine sift of dirt trickled down onto the blood sodden jeans. It could only be a matter of time before more of the roof collapsed.

Mr Weasley held his wand aloft. “Lumos,” he said quietly.

Sam’s fingers closed around the final brick. It was larger than the others, perhaps part of the supporting structure of the tunnel roof. He pulled it upwards. Dean cried out, the sound ringing sharp and echoing in the tunnel.

“Crap.” Sam swallowed.

Mr Weasley winced, staring in horror at the jagged ends of white bone, clearly visible through the ripped jeans. Blood pulsed out, soaking into the material and staining the fallen earth a dark ochre colour.

Sam’s hands shook, his thoughts jumping jerkily around the practicality of applying a tourniquet without moving the leg more than was necessary. He tugged his belt free, trying to ignore the white noise of panic in his mind that was shouting something about open wounds and sewers. The belt slipped around Dean’s thigh, catching on the rough floor. Dean slammed his head back against the tunnel wall, teeth bared.

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry.”

“Looks a bit of a mess.” Mr Weasley laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “Let me see, lad.” He considered the wound for a moment. “Tergeo.”

“Be careful!” Sam’s tone was edgy, his hands fluttering protectively, as though he wanted to pull Mr Weasley away.

“Hold on a second. Watch.”

Particles of dust and dirt started to pull themselves away from the wound and the surrounding area; they buzzed around like small gnats, then floated off and fell onto the floor some distance away.

Mr Weasley rubbed his forehead, speaking to himself in a monotone. “If only I could remember….no, no. It’s no use. Molly will know.”

He turned to Sam. “There’s a spell, to mend broken bones. I can’t remember the words exactly. This isn’t perhaps the best place for it anyway. We want to be sure the wound is clean first.”

Sam slipped off his canvas jacket, his expression grim. “Maybe we can wrap it in this, keep it stable.”

“No need for that. Stand back.” Mr Weasley drew himself up to his full height, gave his wand an experimental flick. “Ferula!”

Sam watched in astonishment as two small matchsticks popped out of the end of the wand. They shot through the air, lining themselves up on either side of Dean’s leg. The matchsticks quivered, grew and fixed themselves in place as splints.

Dean’s chin dropped forwards, eyes closing and his breath coming in harsh pants as he fought against the pain.

“Steady on there. Give it a few minutes and you should feel some pain relief too.”

A bandage spewed rapidly out of the wand; it coiled and twisted through the air and bound itself securely around the splints and leg.

The roof groaned, more dirt fell down into Sam’s hair. “We need to move,” he said urgently.

The sound of traffic above them was punctuated by a shriek of brakes.

“You wanker!” The muffling dirt did nothing to lessen the rage in the British voice.

“It ain’t my fault! There’s a fuckin’ hole in the road!”

“I can see that you twat! See that there? That’s a fuckin’ steerin’ wheel. Couldn’t you go round the bleedin’ thing!”

Car doors slammed. Mr Weasley snapped his wand to the right; a stretcher flew out of the end and dropped onto the floor next to Dean.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” he said rapidly. Dean rose a few inches into the air and was deposited gently into the canvas embrace of the stretcher. It rose steadily and began to glide away down the tunnel.

“Where are we going? Can’t you just do that thing and zap us home from here?”

“Sadly not lads. The Ministry put a charm on the sewers last summer. There was an unfortunate tragedy when a youngster new to that mode of travel apparated into the sewerage.”

Mr Weasley cast around with the light from his wand, looking for the nearest exit. In the circumstances, any quiet corner topside would do to disapparate from; Dean wasn’t looking too good.

Sam went ahead, finding a ladder in a side junction. “Arthur! Over here!”

“Go ahead, Sam. Get the manhole cover up and have a look what’s out there. Don’t want to startle any muggles.”

Sam rushed up the ladder, his boot soles slipping on the wet metal rungs. He pushed up the manhole cover, coming up beside a brick wall next to a busy street.

“It’s rush hour up here,” he shouted down to Mr Weasley. “Maybe we outta find another one.”

“No.” Mr Weasley focussed on Dean’s grey face. “I think this one will have to do. Can you spot anywhere quiet nearby? Your brother’s not doing too well.”

Sam pushed the manhole cover away from the hole and stuck his head out, peering through the passing legs. He hoped no-one trod on him. By-passers did the British thing and ignored him. There seemed to be an alleyway on the other side of the road. A large wheelie bin obscured part of the entrance.

“Yeah,” he called. “There’s an alley.”

“Stand clear!”

Sam crawled out onto the footpath, watching anxiously as leather straps materialised and bound Dean securely to the stretcher. It tipped on end and floated up the length of the ladder. As soon as the end appeared above the surface, Sam took hold of the handles and pretended to pull.

Mr Weasley’s head appeared; he climbed out rapidly, also pretending to hold onto the stretcher. Sam kicked the manhole cover back into place with one foot. Fortunately no-one was paying much attention to them; the hole in the middle of the road was causing chaos, traffic brought to a standstill and horns blaring.

“Sam, are Dean’s lips usually that white?”

“No.” Sam’s tone was terse. “Let’s get him over to the alley.”

He took off at a jog-trot, the stretcher floating smoothly along between them. They dodged between the stationary vehicles. They were almost there when Sam’s foot caught on an uneven paving slab; he teetered, staggered and fell to one knee, letting go of the stretcher. It remained in a perfect hover, despite the lack of support at one end.

“Look Mom, look!” A child tugged at his mother’s arm, pointing a finger at the floating stretcher. Mr Weasley, horrified, flicked his wand under the cover of his cloak. The unsupported end of the stretcher dropped immediately. Any pain relief afforded by the spell immediately disappeared. Agony shot through Dean’s leg. He ground his teeth, gripping onto the edge of stretcher, unsure if he would vomit or pass out first. Every gasping breath seemed to cause the broken ends of bone to grate against each other.

“Sam…”

Sam apologised, knowing it was futile. He grabbed the end of the stretcher and they quickly moved it into the alleyway.

As soon as they were behind the bin, Mr Weasley took a firm grip of the stretcher and Sam and they disapparated.

They apparated straight into the middle of the living room, startling Molly; her shriek was cut off abruptly when she saw the stretcher.

“Arthur! Dear God, Arthur! What’s happened?” She rushed over to them, scooping cushions off the couch to make room for Dean as he floated off the stretcher.

Molly immediately started flicking her wand. The bandage dissolved along with the leg of the jeans and the tourniquet, revealing the ghastly wound.

“Oh my!” She muttered spells and incantations at a rapid pace. The bleeding stopped, the area cleaning itself before their eyes.

“We need to repair that bone,” Molly whispered in Arthur’s ear.

Mr Weasley bit his lip, not wanting to admit he’d forgotten the spell. Suddenly his eyes widened. “That’s it!” he shouted, in an eureka moment.

“Brackium emendo!”  

He stabbed the air with his wand. There was a grating noise; the air shimmered around the wound and then the bone snapped back into place, bonding immediately.

Dean screamed and passed out.

“Probably for the best,” Mr Weasley said wisely. “Sorry about the excitement there. The words suddenly came to me; the old brain hasn’t given up yet.”

.

A few hours later, they were still in the living room, although the fire was now alight and the smell of hot bread cooking was wafting in from the kitchen.

Mr Weasley relaxed in the arm chair, casting an eye in Dean’s direction occasionally. He seemed to be on the mend, although he was still a little pasty.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Sam asked in an undertone.

“He’ll be find, lad. Takes a while to get over something like that. Remember, magic can only do so much. The bone is healed, but that doesn’t mean the body is over the shock yet. Just give him some time.”

Sam smiled; it seemed Dean was in good hands anyway.

Ginny was watching him intently, offering hot cups of tea and chunks of chocolate at regular intervals. Her face was thoughtful as she worked something through in her mind. “ _They feel almost like family… distant cousins?”_ She thought. _“I like Sam. He has pretty hair… and he’s so smart, unlike Dean… I don’t always get Dean; he’s fun though.”_ She smiled a little, remembering the gnomes. _“They’re both quite old, but not as old as Mom and Dad. Sam’s very tall; I wish I was taller. And Dean has green eyes. I really, really like green eyes. I hope Bunny Slipper is okay; she **really** liked Dean!”_

Mr Weasley settled back. He was just about to doze off, when he remembered something he had to do. He went over to the old blanket box in the corner of the room and rummaged through it until he came across a small wooden box. He took hold of it with a delicate grip and carried it over to the armchair, where he placed it on his lap.

Sam watched with interest.

Arthur whispered, “Ontsluiten.” The finely twisted metal bars began to slither off the carved wooden box as though they had been turned to mercury. They settled on the arm of the chair in a twisting, silver blob.

Inside the box were hundreds of tiny vials, bearing labels such as: ‘Fire crab shell’, ‘Nundu claw’ and ‘Jarvey tail’.

Mr Weasley hummed at the contents, obviously re-living fond memories.

“I’ll have to tell you the tales which go along with these sometime, Sam.” He smiled kindly at the long-haired man.

Sam perched on the edge of his seat, peering into the box; he was fascinated to discover that there were even more monsters out there than he’d met.

Mr Weasley reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small vial, filled with some sort of slime.

“Uh gross, shapeshifter skin.” Sam screwed up his nose.

Mr Weasley’s eyes twinkled as he labelled the new item and put it inside with the other vials.

“Mmm, indeed it is Sam. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I’ve never heard of one before, let alone seen one!”

Mr Weasley closed the lid and watched the fluid, silver mass turn back to fine twists of metal.

He’d just settled down again when they were interrupted by a sharp rap on the window.

Molly rushed to open it, letting in a bedraggled and exhausted looking owl.

“Get Errol some owl nuts and water, Ginny. Quickly!”

The owl hooted piteously and then toppled off the window ledge onto Sam’s lap. He regarded it with surprise.

“Is it okay?” he asked, a little nervously, poking it gently with one finger. Errol glared at him.

Dean snorted in amusement. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Scared of an owl now? Don’t worry; if it’s got rabies, the foaming mouth is gonna look good on you.”

“Feeling better there, Dean?” Sam asked sourly.

“He’s not ill!” Ginny said sternly. “It’s just the way he looks. He’s just old, like you.”

“It’s a letter from Charlie, dear.” Mr Weasley took the letter from Errol and began reading it to himself.

“So owls deliver your mail?” Sam asked, amazed.

Ginny gave him a funny look. “Obviously! How else would you get letters?”

Sam opened his mouth, shut it again. It was too big a subject and he was too tired.

“Charlie wants to know if we’ll join him for Christmas. We could see the dragons he’s looking after, how wonderful! Although it’d mean that the boys would have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas rather than coming home.” He raised an eyebrow at Molly.

“We’ll talk about it later, Arthur.”

 _“Home_.” Sam thought. “ _I guess it’s about time we went home.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for reading! There’ll be another chapter soon.  
> Thank you, princessbinas, for the suggestion that Arthur just might want to keep a piece of skin from the shapeshifter. :-)


	11. Chapter 11

They settled around the kitchen table, an unspoken feeling in the air that this would be their last dinner together.

Molly served up earthenware bowls of butternut squash soup and placed a bread board in the centre of the table. Hot, home-made, crusty bread and dark, nutty pumpernickel bread steamed next to a slab of golden butter.

“Eat up boys.” She settled at the foot of the table, sending a sharp glance from the Winchesters to Arthur and back again.

Sam dipped his shiny spoon into the rich soup and paused. “I figure it’s time we were thinking about heading home.”

He raised his eyes almost apologetically to Molly, feeling and ignoring the heat of Dean’s gaze upon his cheek.

Her response was warm. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, isn’t that right, Arthur?”

Mr Weasley nodded enthusiastically, scattering crumbs across the surface of his soup and the table top.

“Thank you.” Sam’s voice was earnest. He saw Dean nodding out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean cleared his throat. “Thing is… that shapeshifter… there’s more things like that out there, everywhere. And it’s our job to hunt ‘em, save people.”

“I know, dear.” Molly smiled sweetly. “Arthur will organise a portkey for you. When were you thinking of leaving?”

“In the morning, I guess?”

Arthur sighed. “There is one thing though, I’m afraid. We really shouldn’t let you return with any knowledge of our world. The normal procedure in this sort of situation is for the obliviate charm to be performed on any muggles who stray into our world.”

Ginny’s high voice broke the sudden silence. “But how will they be able to come back and see us? If they don’t remember us?”

“Ginny, dear. You know how this works. It’s too dangerous, for Sam and Dean and for us. We have to perform the charm.”

Dean’s voice was gruff. “You get in trouble, right, if you don’t?”

“Yes. I’m afraid we do.” Mr Weasley nodded, regret written on his features.

“Only if someone finds out!“ Ginny insisted.

“No dear. It has to be done, you know that.” Molly frowned at her daughter and Ginny subsided.

 

“You’ve been good to us.” Sam noted.

“Yeah, awesome.”

“I guess it’s the least we can do, right Dean?”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” Much as he hated the thought of anyone performing a spell on them, Dean thought that if anyone had to do it, then the Weasleys were the only ones he’d trust. “You’ll do it, right?”

“Of course.” Mr Weasley looked sad. “We’ll travel back by portkey, then I’ll perform the obliviate charm and leave you, by your car.”

Dean’s eyes lit up at the mention of his Baby.

“We’ll keep it simple.” Mrs Weasley said gently. “If we take out everything from when you first saw the portkey. Then insert a memory that it was a false lead?”

They thrashed out the fine details and pushed back their chairs, heading for bed. Dean hung back; he caught Molly’s eye.

His voice was quiet, unsure. “This, obliviate… you can wipe any memories away? Make someone forget anythin’?”

There was a sorrow in her face. “Yes dear, it can remove any memories. _All_ memories if that becomes necessary. Not that you’d ever willingly choose that for someone, even in the most extreme of circumstances.”

He nodded slowly, face grim as he stared at the floor.

“Is there something particular? I could work it into the spell, if you wanted?”

The dark lashes lifted, again she was struck by the intensity of his eyes up so close. He shook his head.

“No.” Barely louder than a whisper. “Wish y’could. There’s a few things I’d just as soon wipe away.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “If you change your mind…”

He patted her hand. “Yeah, I know.” And he was gone, his boots clattering on the staircase.

She sighed. At least, when the obliviate charm was complete, he’d forget whatever horror he’d seen in the crystal ball.

.

Mr Weasley waited awkwardly. The Winchesters took a last look around at the homely kitchen, not sure what to say.

Ginny made the first move, suddenly throwing her arms around Sam’s waist. She gave him a tight hug. “You won’t even remember us,” she said in a small voice.

“Hey.” Sam looked down into her face, his hazel eyes filled with warmth. “You’ll always remember us though, right?”

She nodded tearfully.

“It’ll keep your family safe.” He stroked her bright hair in a brotherly manner. “Family is important. Y’know that, right.”

“Right,” said Ginny, lifting her chin bravely.

Molly held her arms out to Dean, enfolding him in a motherly hug. Less awkward this time, he leaned in, whispering into her ear. “Thank you.”

She petted his face. He was still a bit peaky. “Take care of yourself, dear.”

He nodded, mouth tight and turned to Ginny. “Hey there, gnome warrior.”

She giggled at him. “That was fun!”

He grinned. “Yeah it was. Awesome hunt.”

She gave him a hug, then pointed to the two slippers waiting expectantly by her side. One was smiling cheekily, the other had a dark rain cloud and broken hearts circling over its head.

Dean raised an eyebrow. He’d forgotten the slippers.

Behind him Sam enfolded Molly in a huge hug.

“It’s… er… been nice knowin’ you.” Dean tried, not sure how to deal with a pair of slippers. _Okay,_ he thought. _These things have feelings...”_

He faced the smiling slipper first. “You look after your sister, okay?” A grin, a roll of the eyes and a flick of a bunny ear and the slipper was gone, leaving its sad sibling facing him with woeful eyes.

Sometimes words were not enough. Dean flipped up his collar and let loose the full power of his most cheeky grin as he dipped an eyelid in a wink. It had the desired effect. The bunny slipper blushed furiously as the raincloud broke up and turned into a bright rainbow and the broken hearts became small bluebirds.

Sam chuckled behind him. “Only you, dude.” He slapped Dean on the shoulder and propelled him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s get outta here, before the pestle and mortar also get a crush.”

“Don’t let it get to ya, Sam. It comes naturally, y’know.” Dean smirked at him and allowed himself to be pushed outside.

Minutes later they were in the Ford Anglia. It took off with a jerk, swooping over the madly waving Weasley girls and a rudely gesturing potato-faced gnome. Mr Weasley pointed the car in the direction of the portkey hill.

.

“It certainly was an adventure, lads.” Mr Weasley looked strangely out of place in the dry grassland of the Colorado plain.

He thrust out his hand. Sam shook it heartily, pulling him into a brief hug.

“This is for you. I think it’ll kinda stand out in Colorado.” He beamed and held out a brown paper-wrapped parcel that Mr Weasley had been eyeing with interest since they left The Burrow.

Mr Weasley opened it with eager fingers. It was a beautifully made travelling cloak. He swept it around his shoulders with a broad smile of thanks.

“I’ll miss you boys.”

Dean grasped his hand firmly. “That’s a great family you’ve got there.” His eyes were sad. Seeing it, even from the outside, made it all the harder to lose it.

Mr Weasley pulled him forwards, hugged him and slapped him on the back.

“I suppose that’s it then. Well lads, turn around and look at the view.” He took a small, green velvet pouch from his pocket. He flicked his wand and the pouch flew swiftly to the Impala and disappeared inside. Two silver swords slid out and settled onto the back seat.

The wand was now pointing at the Winchesters. Mr Weasley rotated it slowly, releasing a silvery light. He muttered under his breath and then spoke clearly.

“Obliviate…”

…There was a loud crack of thunder. Sam jumped, startled.

“That storm is gettin’ nearer.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Let’s get outta here.”

He opened the door of the Impala, running his hand along the dusty roof. Even after a few minutes absence, he was so pleased to see her.

As soon as they reached a good cell phone signal, Sam called Bobby.

“Just a false alarm, Bobby, yeah. Rebellious teenager, y’know the type of thing.”

Dean cocked his head, smirking a little at the volume of Bobby’s shouts, clearly audible from the far side of the car.

“No.” Sam protested. “We’re fine…. It’s not been that long!” He pulled the phone away from his ear, raising an eyebrow at Dean. “Wow, Bobby’s been hitting the Jack. Says we didn’t phone him for days!”

Dean laughed. “We got any beer in the cooler?”

“Good call.” Sam reached behind the seat and fished around in the cooler, his expression turning surprised when he pulled out a can of warm beer. “Beer’s warm.”

Dean raised the corner of his lip in disgust.

Something caught Sam’s eye and he turned his head to look further into the back seat.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean squinted quickly at him before turning back to face the road.

“You think we ought to keep these swords in the trunk?”

“Yeah, I guess. Dunno how they ended up there. I keep tellin’ ya, Sammy, y’never know what you’re gonna find in a thrift store.”

Sam frowned, puzzled. For some reason it just didn’t sit right. He shook his head; it’d been a long day.

‘Whitesnake’ filled the car as Sam slid down in his seat, drowsily watching Dean tapping his fingers on the wheel. After a while he drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with the giggles of a little ginger-haired girl.

.

** TO BE CONTINUED VERY SOON IN… **

** ‘THE WINCHESTER PORTKEY - PART 2’ **

**_ Chapter one teaser below: _ **

_Arthur arrived back later that night. He stood outside The Burrow for a while, staring absently at the stars. All the lights were out in the house, apart from one warm, yellow one where he and Molly had their bedroom._

_He made his way wearily up the stairs to find Molly was sitting up in bed, her head slumped to one side. Her glasses were perched on the end of her nose and an open book lay on her lap. He smiled at the little, soft snores in a fond way and kissed the top of her curls, putting the book onto the bedside table._

_She stirred and opened sleepy eyes. “Did it all go okay, dear?”_

_Arthur sat down on his side of the bed, buttoning up his pyjama top. He nodded._

_She laid a comforting hand in the middle of his back. “I wish they could remember us too. I was very fond of them both.”_

_“No, it’s for the best. And legal. It just brought back a lot of memories of when I was travelling with Robert.” He settled into the bed._

_“It’s a shame they couldn’t meet him. Did you think of perhaps calling on him?”_

_He sighed. “It did cross my mind, to tell you the truth. But we parted on such bad terms.”_

_“It’s so sad. After all you learned from each other too.”_

_“He made it very clear, petal. After that awful thing that happened to his wife, he told me he never wanted anything to do with magical or supernatural things again.” Arthur’s face was furrowed with remembered pain. “He was in such a state. I’ve never wanted to perform an obliviate charm so badly… but of course I would never do that without his permission.”_

_Molly sighed. “Poor Robert. Such a good man.” I wonder if we’ll ever see him again, she thought. She kissed Arthur on the cheek and turned off the light._

.

**_Thank you all so very much for reading and sticking with the story. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it!_ **

**_!!!THE STORY WILL CONTINUE IN PART TWO VERY SOON!!! _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for reading and sticking with the story. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it!  
> !!!THE STORY WILL CONTINUE IN PART TWO VERY SOON!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchester Portkey continues... PART 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a little longer than we expected, but here it is…

 

Arthur arrived back later that night. He stood outside The Burrow for a while, staring absently at the stars. All the lights were out in the house, apart from one warm, yellow one where he and Molly had their bedroom.

He made his way wearily up the stairs to find Molly was sitting up in bed, her head slumped to one side. Her glasses were perched on the end of her nose and an open book lay on her lap. He smiled at the little, soft snores in a fond way and kissed the top of her curls, putting the book onto the bedside table.

She stirred and opened sleepy eyes. “Did it all go okay, dear?”

Arthur sat down on his side of the bed, buttoning up his pyjama top. He nodded.

She laid a comforting hand in the middle of his back. “I wish they could remember us too. I was very fond of them both.”

“No, it’s for the best. And legal. It just brought back a lot of memories of when I was travelling with Robert.” He settled into the bed.

“It’s a shame they couldn’t meet him. Did you think of perhaps calling on him?”

He sighed. “It did cross my mind, to tell you the truth. But we parted on such bad terms.”

“It’s so sad. After all you learned from each other too.”

“He made it very clear, petal. After that awful thing that happened to his wife, he told me he never wanted anything to do with magical or supernatural things again.” Arthur’s face was furrowed with remembered pain. “He was in such a state. I’ve never wanted to perform an obliviate charm so badly… but of course I would never do that without his permission.”

Molly sighed. “Poor Robert. Such a good man.” I wonder if we’ll ever see him again, she thought. She kissed Arthur on the cheek and turned off the light.

.

Dean Winchester straightened up; he dropped the polishing rag onto the base of an upturned oil drum and stretched, easing out the pleasant ache caused by a couple of hours of careful polishing and detailing. His reflection followed his movements faithfully, rippling across the gloss of the Impala's paintwork.

The warmth of the late spring afternoon, the hum of busy insects and the bustle of nest building birds made the ragged looking owl seem even more out of place. It had watched him all afternoon, perched in the shadows inside the twisted metal carcass of one of Bobby's scrap vehicles, unblinking golden eyes following his every movement with a baleful glare.

Dean scooped up his rag, snapped it in the air with a glare of his own.

"Don't even think about it, feather face."

The owl regarded him with disdain, shuffled on its unseen perch and went to sleep.

"Freakin' owls," Dean muttered to himself. "Thought they were only supposed to come out at night."

He put away the polish and locked up the Impala, with a final, mistrustful glance at the motionless mass of feathers on the gloomy perch.

"One crap, just one," he warned, turning on his heel and heading towards the smell of Bobby’s cooking.

.

Sam leaned back, scooting his ass forwards on the shiny seat of the kitchen chair and stretching his long legs across the floor. Bobby skirted around him, frowning a little; sometimes Sam’s long frame was a downright hazard.

“Comfy there are ya?” He asked with a sarcastic bite. But Sam, the big sasquatch, wasn’t listening. He seemed to be kneading at his hips in an absent-minded way. Bobby raised an eyebrow and turned away, eyeing the pile of washing up in the sink with distaste.

Sam realised belatedly that someone had spoken. He focussed on the figure outlined against the bright light flooding through the window frame, all dark shadow apart from the bit of gingery hair sticking up on top of his head.

“Arthur, you gotta stop feeding me so well,” he said absently.                                 

Bobby dropped a spoon with a clatter, the unexpected uttering of a name he hadn’t heard in years in his kitchen taking him by surprise.

“I’m Bobby, y’idjit.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Dean’s voice startled Sam fully awake.

“Arthur? Uh… I dunno.” He chuckled at himself. “Must’ve been half asleep. Keep having these weird dreams about this family with red hair.”

Bobby sucked in a breath, his mind making a connection between red hair and the name Arthur and opening the lid on memories good and bad. He abandoned the washing up and fumbled a bottle of Jack out of the corner cupboard.

“I’ll be outside,” he said gruffly, letting the kitchen door slam behind him and leaving the Winchesters with raised eyebrows.

.

Mr Weasley was digging in his vegetable patch. Being a wizard, this wasn’t a strictly necessary activity, but he enjoyed digging; it soothed him in the strange way only physical labour can.

He’d paused to wipe his brow with a red and white spotted handkerchief when he noticed a distinctive potato-faced gnome pulling up the shallots he’d planted a few days earlier. He frowned, aggrieved, the spots on his handkerchief changing to a dark purple with disappointment at the vandalism.

“I could do with Sam and Dean to help me de-gnome.” At the thought of the Winchesters the spots on his handkerchief turned green for a moment and then to black. He sighed heavily, good memories but that’s all they were, more friends lost to the rift between the magical world and that of the muggles.

A high voice caught his attention. Mr Weasley peered over the hedge dividing his vegetable patch from the main garden. Ginny was reading her Christmas gift from Charlie, a green-scaled book on dragons and their habitats. The book was not proving a popular gift with Molly, having caused major damage to her china with its beating wings and, only that morning, setting the kitchen curtains afire. Even as he watched, the book made a bid for freedom, brought up short by its restraining chain. Ginny yanked it back to her lap with a sharp reprimand.

Mr Weasley chuckled, his head full of images of her and the Winchesters hunting gnomes in that same garden. He shook his head and turned back to his digging.

.

Bobby dreamed. He dreamed of old friends with red hair… the dreams were gold-tinted with the happiness and hopes of youth… then they turned dark…

_Arthur had hold of his arm, an earnest expression on his face. “Bobby! Let me help you. Let me make the pain go away. This is no way to live!”_

_Bobby tore his arm free angrily. “I don’t want to forget! Why would I ever want to forget her!” He swept his hand across the table, sending a collection of ornaments and curios flying across the room. A framed photograph of Karen was struck, toppled off its shelf and smashed into pieces on the floor. “Whaddya think y’goin’ to do to me? Wave yer magic wand and make it all go away!”_

_Arthur stared at him, misery on his face. “Robert, please. We’re friends.”_

_Bobby’s voice was stony. “Not any more, we ain’t. This…THIS BULLCRAP, this magic you play with, this is what it does to people, normal, ordinary folk.”_

_“Robert…”_

_“NO!” Bobby backed away from him. “Git away from me! I ain’t never havin’ nothin’ to do with magic again. Y’can take yer supernatural crap and stick it up yer ass.”_

_Arthur stopped. He was only causing his friend more pain and that was the last thing he wanted. “If this is really what you want?” His voice broke a little, the last flicker of hope extinguished. He walked slowly to the back door. “Just remember, you’ll always be MY friend.”_

_Bobby turned away, groping through tears for the nearest whiskey bottle. Behind him, his friend raised his wand slowly, aiming it at the smashed picture. His reflection was caught, distorted by the glass of the whiskey bottle. Bobby whirled, furious._

_“I told ya! NO!”_

_Arthur was gone, the door closed behind him. Bobby let out a yell of inarticulate rage and hurled the bottle to shatter in a thousand glittering pieces against the doorframe. The strong smell of liquor assaulted his nostrils as the amber liquid dripped down the wall._

_No obliviate charm had been performed. He looked around, puzzled. Karen’s photograph was back on the shelf, the glass restored to perfection. Bobby approached it slowly, taking it in his hands as the tears rolled down his unshaven cheeks._

With a gasp, Bobby Singer sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes seeking the photograph on his bedside table. Karen.

His mind began to race. A man named Arthur, a red haired family, the Winchester’s unexplained absence the previous autumn and their poor cover story about a truant teenager and the purchase of some silver swords.

He jumped out of bed. It could not be a coincidence. He pulled aside the ragged remains of his net curtain and peered out into the yard. Earle was sat on his customary perch on the branch outside Bobby’s window, a resigned expression on his face.

Bobby scribbled a quick note on a page torn out of the front of one of his books. He opened the window and waved an owl nut hopefully in Earle’s direction. The owl shook out his tatty feathers, huge eyes opening even wider with shock.

“I know,” groused Bobby. “It’s been a long time, but get yer feathery ass in here. I got a message to send.”

He tied the note to Earle’s ankle and gave him a quick rub on the head. Earle huffed and snapped his yellow beak half-heartedly at Bobby’s fingers. He shuffled across the window ledge and took a quick beakfull of whiskey out of the shot glass in the corner.

“Y’know where to take it.”

The owl stretched his wings, cast a final yellow glare at Bobby and was gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re enjoying it so far… love to know what you think. :)
> 
> Many thanks to all of you who read Part 1…thank you for the kudos and kind comments! We hope you enjoy Part 2 as well. 
> 
> Hare in the moonlight and CrowHorse1


	13. Chapter 13

 

Arthur Weasley could not have felt more relaxed than he did, a newspaper and a cup of tea at his side, the soft click of Molly knitting and the sonorous tick of the grandfather clock enhancing the afternoon.

“Molly!” Arthur sat upright and jabbed excitedly at a column of newsprint. “The Appleby Arrows completely annihilated the Woollongong Warriors at the Quidditch Friendlies! Ah, if only they could do that when it comes to the proper tournament.” He sighed wistfully. “Still, never mind, Timothy owes me a couple of knuts!”

He settled back in his chair, raising the tea cup to his lips. Unfortunately, at that very moment, there was a ghastly screech as something large and untidy blundered through the open kitchen window and crash landed on top of Errol’s recumbent form. Most of the contents of the cup spilled down Arthur’s knitted vest.

“Good grief!” Molly sprang to her feet, her knitting needles dashing behind her for safety. “What on earth is going on?”

“Merlin’s Beard!” Arthur was on his feet.

“It’s an owl! Poor thing looks a bit peaky.”

“That’s not just any owl, Molly,” Arthur said, aghast.   “Quick, get the brandy, the good brandy.”

He approached the table cautiously. The tangled owls were sorting themselves out and yabbering at each other. The visitor lurched towards Arthur. If it hadn’t been for the note attached to his leg, Arthur wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the two birds, but after all they were out of same nest. Errol followed the visitor, he seemed unusually conscious and his eyes were fully open, something Arthur hadn’t witnessed for some years.

Molly soon reappeared and set a decanter of best brandy on the table. “Is, is that Earle?” she gasped.

The visitor glared at them both, ripped the note loose and hurled it at Arthur.

“Definitely.” Arthur said.

Without waiting for an invitation, Earle shuffled rapidly up to the decanter, tore out the stopper with one gnarled claw and dropped onto his back, chugging at the golden liquid.

Arthur fumbled at the note with shaking fingers; could it possibly be a note from Robert? The untidy scrawl answered his question before he even read the message. 

_Arthur. It’s Bobby. We need to talk. Get your ass over here asap._

“Never big on words,” said Arthur fondly.

He pondered briefly. “I need to send a response immediately.” He cast a calculating eye over the sprawled form of Earle, who was alternately hiccupping and snoring on the table. “Umm, I think Errol might be our best bet.”

He took a small piece of parchment from the ready-cut pile on the dresser and scrawled neatly:

_Be there Friday. Presume you no longer intend to shoot me full of deer balls._

Arthur frowned; deer balls didn’t sound quite right, but it was close enough.

.

“I’m real sorry, sir. We’ve had a busy day.”

Dean stared at the drive-thru intercom in disbelief.

“Whaddya mean! You’ve no burgers! This is a freakin’ burger joint!”

The tinny voice retained its cheery optimism. “I’m sorry sir. All we can offer you today is the happy-go-lucky wrap of the day; it comes with a side order of sweet potato fries.”

Dean went a bit pink. “I’ll take onion rings.”

“Sorry sir. That combination is not available on our menu. The menu boards are to your right.”

Sam bit his lip, stifling the chuckle that threatened to escape.

“I want normal fries.” Dean grated.

“That’ll be an extra two dollars sir.”

“Fine, I’ll take two, of everythin’,” snarled Dean. “Whaddya want Sammy?”

Sam leaned over and raised his voice. “Chicken salad, ranch dressing.”

“Very well sir; that does come with a free side order of onion rings and fries.”

Dean growled and gunned the Impala’s engine unnecessarily as he moved to the next window and handed over a fistful of dollar bills. The cashier gave him a plastic smile and an insincere "Have a nice day. Please proceed to the next window to collect your order.” The window snapped shut with a decisive click.

A voluptuous blonde leaned through the collection window, a warm and flirtatious smile on her bright red lips. She snapped her gum in Dean’s direction and fluttered heavily mascaraed lashes. Dean brightened immediately.

“Well hello there, sweetheart.”

“Hi sugar. I’m Bugs. Got your order coming right up.” She plumped her cleavage and winked at him.

Sam spoiled the moment by leaning across into Dean's space and peering up at her. “Bugs?” he muttered quietly to Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Like the rabbit?”

Dean smoothed it over rapidly, giving Bugs an appreciative look. “I can see her being a bunny all right, Sam.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

The blonde tittered and picked up a paper sack of takeout. She eyed Dean for a moment, her pencil poised over a napkin, but Sam was clearly on a mission to destroy his brother’s chances of getting any action. He chuckled. “Didn’t you once have a thing with a bunny slipper, Dean?”

“WHAT? Dude!” Dean stared at him, incredulous. Anything further he might've said was cut short by the arrival of a plump man with a ‘Manager’ badge. He tapped Bugs on the shoulder.

“Do ya mind movin’ to the first window honey. We’re short-staffed on that side. You can let customers know burgers are back on now.” He swiped the bag of takeout from Bugs' hand, threw it into Dean’s lap with a hearty "Have a nice day sir" and slammed the window.

For a moment Sam thought his brother was about to cast himself out of the Impala and throw himself down in the drive-thru lane like a plaid speed bump.

“I guess you lost your touch,” he said mildly, turning his face away to hide his massive grin.

.

Dean was still distinctly huffy when they pulled up in Bobby’s yard.

“I’ll let you have my onion rings,” Sam offered.

“Damn right you will.” Dean snapped. He snatched the takeout bag from Sam’s hand. “What WAS that back there, dude? BUNNY slipper!?”

Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. Really, he had no idea where that’d come from; his dreams about the red-haired family were so vivid it was becoming hard to distinguish dream from reality.

Bobby waited on the porch, keeping one eye on the snarking Winchesters and the other anxiously on the sky. He'd no idea how long it would take Earle to get to the Weasley’s house; in fact how a Great Grey Owl managed to cross the Atlantic at all was a mystery to him. And of course there was the fact that it was illegal to send mail-bearing owls across international borders without authorisation.

He frowned at the brothers. “What took y’idjits so long? Couldn't ya find a drive-thru in South Dakota?”

Sam’s response was interrupted by the appearance of a large, scruffy owl that skimmed in low over Bobby’s perimeter fence.  The bird swerved around Sam's head, clipping a teetering stack of wheel rims with its wing. It squawked in shock and deposited a huge splatter of white owl shit across the roof and hood of the Impala.

There was a strangled noise behind Sam and the thud of the takeout bag hitting the floor. Dean, almost paralysed with rage, fumbled in his waistband for his gun as the owl made a clumsy landing on a post next to Bobby. It teetered briefly and fell off in an exhausted heap by the old hunter’s feet, gasping dramatically.

“Errol?” Bobby squinted at it in surprise.

“Let me at it! I’m gonna shoot that sonofabitch!”

Bobby stepped protectively over the bird, his palm out. “Back off boy! You touch that owl and I’m gonna fill yer ass full of buckshot!"

.

Bobby shuffled nervously up and down by the kitchen window, drinking whiskey like it was on tap. Every so often he thrust an owl nut in the direction of the tired looking owl on the window ledge.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, you gonna tell us what all this is about?"

"Ain't nothin' y'need to worry y'head about. Got a friend comin' by is all."

Bobby downed another shot and resumed pacing.

Dean pulled a mute 'dunno' face at Sam, shrugging his shoulders. Sam shook his head. Most of the grizzled acquaintances Bobby knew didn't really fit in the friend category. 

It was just after 9pm when there was a loud crack outside the back door. Bobby jumped, ran his fingers through his thinning hair and squared his shoulders. He opened the door.

"Arthur!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon! Thank you for reading and thank you so much for the kudos and comments… they make us very happy!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Disclaimer: Dean, Sam, Mr Weasley and any characters from the TV show Supernatural and movie and books Harry Potter do not belong to me in any way (sadly). I am just playing with the characters. This story is written purely for enjoyment, with no profit of any kind expected, intended or desired.


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